Like most Netherlanders, when Dirk made up his mind to do anything he did it thoroughly.  Thus, having undertaken to give a dinner party, he determined to give a good dinner.  In ordinary circumstances his first idea would have been to consult his cousins, Clara and Lysbeth.  After that monstrous story about the sleighing, however, which by inquiry from the coachman of the house, whom he happened to meet, he ascertained to be perfectly false, this, for the young man had some pride, he did not feel inclined to do.  So in place of it he talked first to his landlady, a worthy dame, and by her advice afterwards with the first innkeeper of Leyden, a man of resource and experience.  The innkeeper, well knowing that this customer would pay for anything which he ordered, threw himself into the affair heartily, with the result that by five o’clock relays of cooks and other attendants were to be seen streaming up Dirk’s staircase, carrying every variety of dish that could be supposed to tempt the appetite of high-class cavaliers.

Dirk’s apartment consisted of two rooms situated upon the first floor of an old house in a street that had ceased to be fashionable.  Once, however, it had been a fine house, and, according to the ideas of the time, the rooms themselves were fine, especially the sitting chamber, which was oak-panelled, low, and spacious, with a handsome fireplace carrying the arms of its builder.  Out of it opened his sleeping room—­which had no other doorway—­likewise oak-panelled, with tall cupboards, not unlike the canopy of a tomb in shape and general appearance.

The hour came, and with it the guests.  The feast began, the cooks streamed up and down bearing relays of dishes from the inn.  Above the table hung a six-armed brass chandelier, and in each of its sockets guttered a tallow candle furnishing light to the company beneath, although outside of its bright ring there was shadow more or less dense.  Towards the end of dinner a portion of the rush wick of one of these candles fell into the brass saucer beneath, causing the molten grease to burn up fiercely.  As it chanced, by the light of this sudden flare, Montalvo, who was sitting opposite to the door, thought that he caught sight of a tall, dark figure gliding along the wall towards the bedroom.  For one instant he saw it, then it was gone.

“Caramba, my friend,” he said, addressing Dirk, whose back was turned towards the figure, “have you any ghosts in this gloomy old room of yours?  Because, if so, I think I have just seen one.”

“Ghosts!” answered Dirk, “no, I never heard of any; I do not believe in ghosts.  Take some more of that pasty.”

Montalvo took some more pasty, and washed it down with a glass of wine.  But he said no more about ghosts—­perhaps an explanation of the phenomenon had occurred to him; at any rate he decided to leave the subject alone.

After the dinner they gambled, and this evening the stakes began where those of the previous night left off.  For the first hour Dirk lost, then the luck turned and he won heavily, but always from Montalvo.