Michael jumped up and cried “Damnation!” and I at once saw my mistake.  The landlord’s manner instantly altered.  He looked at me triumphantly and said:—­

“Beds, beds! but, my honoured sirs, I have no beds in the house.  I forgot to tell you that no guest has been upstairs in years, for certain reasons.  Indeed, sirs, I am so embarrassed!  I should have told you at once I have only a day trade.  My regular customers would not dare to stop here over night, as the house,”—­here a cunning, even sinister, look spread over the fellow’s fat face—­“the house bears an evil reputation.”

Michael started and crossed himself, but not I. I suspected some deep devilry and determined to discover it.

“So ho?  Haunted, eh?  Well, ghosts and old women’s stories shan’t make me budge until dawn.  Go fetch more wine and open it here, mine host of the Scarlet Dragon,” I roared.  The little man was nonplussed, hesitated a moment, and then trotted off.

I saw that Michael was at last aroused.

“What diabolical fooling is this?  If the place is haunted, I’m off.”

“I’m damned if I am,” I said quite bravely, and more wine appeared.  We both sat down.

The air had become nipping, and the blaze on the hearth was reassuring.  Besides, the wind was querulous, and I didn’t fancy a ride at midnight, even if my lady’s quest were an urgent one.

Michael held his peace as the wine was poured out, and I insisted on the landlord drinking with us.  We finished two bottles, and I sent for more.  I foresaw that sleep was out of the question, and so determined to make a night of it.

“Touching upon this ghost,” I began, when the other bade me in God’s name not to jest.  There were some things, he said, not to be broached in honest Christian company.

“A fig for your scruples!” I cried, emptying my glass; my head was hot and I felt bold.  “A fig, I say, for your bogie-man nonsense!  Tell me at what time doth this phantom choose to show itself.”  The landlord shivered and drew his seat closer to the fire.

“Oh, sir, do not jest!  What I tell you is no matter for rude laughter.  Begging your pardon for my offer, if you will be patient, I will relate to you the story, and how my misfortune came from this awful visitant.”

Even Michael seemed placated, and after I nodded my head in token of assent the landlord related to us this story:—­

* * * * *

Once upon a time, sirs, when the great and good Louis, sixteenth of his name, was King of France, this domain was the property of the Duke of Langlois.  The duke was proud and rich, and prouder and haughtier was his duchess, who was born Berri.  Ah! they were mighty folk then, before the Revolution came with its sharp axes to clip off their heads.  This inn was the stable of the chateau, which stood off yonder in the woods.  Alas! nothing remains of it to-day but a few blackened foundations, for it was burned to the earth by the red devils in ’93.  But at the time I speak of, the chateau was a big, rich palace, full of gay folk; all the nobility came there, and the duchess ruled the land.