'She had been in bed,' she says, 'a few minutes, the curtains drawn, and every thing silent, when the room door opened, and some one entered. Madame Alphonse was then lying on the farther side of the bed with her face toward the wall. She made no movement, thinking it was her husband. In an instant the bed creaked loudly, as if it had received an enormous weight. She was greatly terrified, but dared not turn her head. Five, ten minutes perhaps—for she could form no idea of time—passed in this manner. She then made an involuntary movement, or it might have been the person in bed who made one, and she felt something in contact with her as cold as ice. These are her expressions. She buried herself beneath the bed-clothes, and trembled from head to foot. Shortly afterward, the door opened a second time, and some one entered, who said: 'Good evening my little wife.' Presently, the curtains were withdrawn, and she heard a struggle and a stifled cry. The figure in bed beside her seemed to raise itself to a sitting posture, and to stretch its arms forward. She then turned her head and saw, as she says, her husband on his knees upon the bed, his head as high as the pillow, in the arms of a sort of greenish-colored giant, who embraced him with great force. She says, and the poor creature has repeated it to me at least twenty times—she says, that she recognized—can you guess what?—the bronze Venus; the statue of Monsieur Peyrade! Since this piece of sculpture has been here, every body, I think, has gone mad. But I am merely repeating the narration of the unhappy lunatic. At this spectacle, she became senseless, and probably for some moments lost her reason. How long she remained in this swoon she can form no idea. When she came to herself, she again saw the phantom, or the statue, as she persists in calling it, immovable, the lower part of the body in bed, the bust and arms extended forward; and between the arms, her husband lifeless and motionless. A cock crowed; on which the statue got out of bed, let fall the dead body, and departed. Madame Alphonse pulled the night-bell, and you know what followed.'
They brought in the Spaniard; he was composed, and defended himself with much coolness and presence of mind. He did not deny the speech I had overheard, but explained it, by saying that he only meant that on the morrow, when he was rested, he would beat his antagonist at a game of tennis. I remember, that he added, 'An Arragonian, when insulted, does not wait until the next day for revenge: had I thought Monsieur Alphonse meant to insult me, he would have had my knife in his body on the spot.'
They compared his shoes with the print of the footsteps in the garden; the shoes were much larger. Beside this, the innkeeper with whom the man lodged, testified that he had passed the whole of the night in rubbing and giving medicines to one of his mules that was sick. It was also proved that this Arragonian was a man of good character, and well known in the neighborhood around, which he visited every year for purposes of traffic. He was accordingly released, with an apology for his detention.
I had almost forgotten the testimony of a domestic, who was the last person that saw Monsieur Alphonse alive. At the moment he was about going to his wife's chamber, he called to this man, and in an agitated manner, asked him if he knew where I was. The domestic replied that he had not seen me; upon which Monsieur Alphonse gave a heavy sigh, and remained for more than a minute without speaking; he then exclaimed, wildly: 'Come on, then! the devil must have carried him off too!'
I asked this man if Monsieur Alphonse had on his diamond ring when he spoke to him. The domestic paused before replying: he at length said, that he believed not; but that he had not paid particular attention. 'But,' added he, correcting himself, 'if the ring had been on his finger, I should doubtless have noticed it, for I believed that he had given it to Madame Alphonse.'
While questioning this man, I felt a little of the superstitious terror which the deposition of Madame Alphonse had spread through the house, creeping over me; but observing the king's attorney looking at me with a smile of peculiar meaning, I refrained from farther inquiry.
A few hours after the funeral rites of Monsieur Alphonse, which so closely succeeded those of his marriage, had been performed, I made my arrangements to quit Ille. The carriage of Monsieur Peyrade was to convey me to Perpignan. In spite of his feebleness and distress, the poor old man insisted upon accompanying me as far as the garden gate. We walked in silence, he leaning heavily on my arm, and dragging himself along with difficulty. At the moment of our separation, I cast a last look upon the fatal Venus. I well foresaw that my host, though he did not partake of the terror and hatred with which she inspired the greater part of his family, would be very willing to get rid of an object, which incessantly recalled so frightful a calamity. My intention was to persuade him to place it in a museum. As I hesitated about opening the subject, Monsieur Peyrade turned his head mechanically in the direction, toward which he saw me looking so fixedly. He saw the statue, and immediately burst into tears. I embraced him, and without venturing to say a single word, entered the carriage.
Since my departure, I have not learned that any thing has transpired to throw light upon this mysterious catastrophe.
Monsieur Peyrade died a few months after his son. By his will, he bequeathed me his manuscripts, which I may possibly some day publish. I did not, however, find among them the memoir relating to the inscriptions on the Venus.