"Perhaps," said my companion, with a smile. "And yet a tale is told that would partly refute one of your propositions."
"A tale!" cried I, catching at the word—"about what?"
"About some former occupants of the house. A wild old story, but a true one, as I believe."
"My dear sir!" I exclaimed, "did I not fear encroaching on your kindness, I would beg you to grant me the evening, as you have already given me the afternoon, and, after supping with me at the 'Park,' to relate the tradition in question."
"Willingly," said the Antwerper, good-humouredly, "were I not pledged to the theatre to-night. We do not often catch such a nightingale as this Frenchman, and when we do, we make the most of him. But the legend is in print; I have the book, and will lend it you with pleasure."
"A thousand thanks," said I, rather cooled, however, on the subject, by the discovery that the tale of wonder I anticipated was written instead of oral.
"By the bye," said my companion, when we had walked a few yards in silence, "are you acquainted with Flemish?"
"The patois of the country?" said I, smiling, perhaps a little contemptuously—"Perfectly unacquainted."
"Then you cannot read the legend, for it is printed in that language?"
"In what language?"