“Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the apartment you occupied last night; which, at that time, was a kind of state apartment.  Her followers were quartered in the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor, and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet.  Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur, who had announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard.  He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow, and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of defending the castle with his single arm.

“It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the year.—­Apropos—­now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her visit.  I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house.  There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family.”  Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eyebrows.  “There is a tradition—­that a strange occurrence took place that night—­a strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence.”

Here he checked himself and paused.

“Did it relate to that lady?” inquired my uncle, eagerly.

“It was past the hour of midnight,” resumed the Marquis—­“when the whole chateau—­”

Here he paused again—­my uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity.

“Excuse me,” said the Marquis—­a slight blush streaking his sullen visage.  “There are some circumstances connected with our family history which I do not like to relate.  That was a rude period.  A time of great crimes among great men:  for you know high blood, when it runs wrong, will not run tamely like blood of the canaille—­poor lady!—­But I have a little family pride, that—­excuse me—­we will change the subject if you please.”—­

My uncle’s curiosity was piqued.  The pompous and magnificent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue.  He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness.  Besides, being a traveller, in quest of information, considered it his duty to inquire into every thing.

The Marquis, however, evaded every question.

“Well,” said my uncle, a little petulantly, “whatever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night.”

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise.

“She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber.”

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and a smile; taking it no doubt for an awkward piece of English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be charmed with.  My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the whole circumstance.  The Marquis heard him through with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened in his hand.  When the story was finished he tapped on the lid of his box deliberately; took a long sonorous pinch of snuff—­