The Count ordered the northern apartments to be opened and prepared for Ludovico’s night watch. However, Dorothée remembered what she had seen there before and was terrified to obey. None of the other servants dared enter those rooms either, so they remained locked until the very moment Ludovico was supposed to spend the night there.
The entire household waited anxiously for that hour to arrive.
After supper, Ludovico was summoned by the Count to his private study. They remained alone together for nearly half an hour. When they came out, the Count handed him a sword.
“It has been used in real battles,” the Count said with a smile. “I trust you will use it bravely in this battle against imaginary spirits. Tomorrow morning, I expect to hear that there is not a single ghost left in this château.”
Ludovico accepted the sword respectfully.
“You shall have your wish, my lord,” he replied. “I promise that no spirit will disturb the peace of this château after tonight.”
They returned to the dining room, where the Count’s guests were waiting to accompany him and Ludovico to the northern apartments. Dorothée was called for the keys, and she reluctantly handed them to Ludovico.
He led the way, followed by most of the people in the château.
When they reached the back staircase, several servants suddenly stopped. Their courage failed them, and they refused to go any farther. The rest followed Ludovico to the top of the stairs, where there was a wide landing. They gathered around him as he placed the key into the lock, watching him as if he were performing some dangerous magic.
Ludovico was unfamiliar with the old lock and could not turn the key.
Dorothée, who had remained far behind, was called forward. Under her trembling hand, the door slowly opened.
The moment she looked into the dark room, she gave a sharp cry and stepped back.
At that sound, most of the servants rushed down the stairs in panic.
Only the Count, Henri, and Ludovico remained.
They immediately entered the apartment to investigate.
Ludovico drew his sword.
The Count carried the lamp.
Henri carried a basket filled with food and drink for the brave man who was to spend the night there.
They quickly searched the first room, but found nothing unusual.
They moved into the second room.
Again, everything was silent.
Then they entered the third room, this time with more confidence.
The Count finally recovered from the brief alarm that had seized him and smiled.
“Which room do you intend to sleep in, Ludovico?” he asked.
“There are several chambers beyond these, your Excellency,” Ludovico replied, pointing toward a door. “They say there is a bed in one of them. I shall stay there. When I become tired of watching, I can rest.”
“Very well,” said the Count. “Let us continue. You see, these rooms contain nothing except damp walls and ruined furniture. Since arriving at the château, I have been so occupied that I have never inspected them. Tomorrow, tell the housekeeper to open all these windows. The old silk hangings are falling apart, and I shall have them removed. The ancient furniture should also be taken away.”
“My dear sir,” Henri said, looking around, “this armchair is so heavily covered with gold that it looks almost like one of the royal chairs at the Louvre.”
“Yes,” the Count replied, stopping to examine it. “There is a story connected with that chair, but I have no time to tell it now. Let us move on.”
He looked around.
“This suite is much larger than I remembered. It has been many years since I entered these rooms. But where is the bedroom you mentioned, Ludovico? These are only waiting rooms leading to the great salon. I remember when they were magnificent.”
“The bed, my lord,” Ludovico explained, “is said to be in a room beyond the salon, at the end of the suite.”
“Oh, here is the salon,” said the Count as they entered the large room where Emily and Dorothée had once rested.
He stopped for a moment.
The room still showed traces of its former glory.
The rich tapestries.
The long velvet sofas with heavily carved golden frames.
The marble floor decorated with delicate patterns.
The painted glass windows.
The enormous Venetian mirrors, which reflected every corner of the spacious chamber.
These mirrors had once reflected scenes of happiness and celebration. This had been the grand reception room of the château, where the Marchioness had held the magnificent gatherings that formed part of her wedding celebrations.
If a magician’s wand could have brought back all the people who had once filled this room—many of whom were now long dead—what a strange contrast they would have seen.
Then, the room had been filled with bright lights, music, laughter, and elegant guests.
Now, only the weak flame of the Count’s lamp moved across the darkness, barely revealing the three lonely figures standing there.
The Count looked deeply moved.
“Ah, Henri,” he said quietly, “how different everything is from the last time I saw this place.”
“I was young then. The Marchioness was alive and in the beauty of her youth. Many others were here too, but they are all gone now.”
“The musicians once stood there. We danced across this floor, and these walls echoed with joy.”
“Now they echo only with a single weak voice—and even that voice will soon disappear.”
“My son, remember this. I was once as young as you are now. One day you too will pass away, just like those who came before you.”
“Those people once sang and danced in this very room, forgetting that every year is made of passing moments, and every step carries us closer to the grave.”
“But such thoughts are useless—or even harmful—unless they teach us to prepare for eternity. Otherwise, they only destroy our present happiness without leading us toward a better future.”
He paused.
“But enough of this. Let us continue.”
Ludovico opened the bedroom door.
As the Count entered, he was struck by the gloomy appearance of the room. The dark curtains and faded decorations gave it the feeling of a place prepared for death.
He approached the bed slowly.
Then he stopped.
The bed was covered with a black velvet cloth used for funerals.
“What does this mean?” the Count asked, staring at it.
“I have heard, my lord,” Ludovico said, standing at the foot of the bed and looking beneath the canopy, “that the Marchioness de Villeroi died in this chamber and remained here until she was carried away for burial. Perhaps that explains the funeral covering.”
The Count did not answer.
He stood silently for several moments, deeply affected.
Then he turned toward Ludovico.
“Do you believe your courage will carry you through this night?”
“If you have any doubts, do not be ashamed to admit them. I will release you from your promise and save you from the mockery of the other servants.”
Ludovico hesitated.
Pride and fear struggled within him.
But pride won.
His face reddened, and his uncertainty disappeared.
“No, my lord,” he said. “I will finish what I have begun. I thank you for your kindness. I shall make a fire on that hearth, and with the food in this basket, I believe I shall be perfectly comfortable.”
“Very well,” said the Count. “But how will you pass the long hours if you do not sleep?”
“When I become tired, my lord, I shall not be afraid to sleep,” Ludovico replied. “Until then, I have a book that will keep me company.”
“I hope nothing disturbs you,” said the Count. “But if you become truly frightened during the night, come to my room.”
“I trust your judgment and courage too much to believe you will be frightened by ordinary shadows, or that this dark chamber and its lonely position will overcome you with imaginary fears.”
“Tomorrow I shall thank you for an important service. These rooms will be opened, and my servants will understand their mistake.”
“Good night, Ludovico. Come to me early in the morning, and remember what I told you.”
“I will, my lord. Good night, your Excellency. Allow me to light your way.”
Ludovico carried the lamp as the Count and Henri walked back through the rooms.
At the landing, they found another lamp that one of the frightened servants had abandoned.
Henri picked it up.
“Good night again, Ludovico,” he said.
“Good night,” Ludovico replied respectfully.
Then he closed the door and locked it.
Before going to the bedroom, he carefully searched every room again. He suspected someone might have hidden there to frighten him.
But he found no one.
He was completely alone.
Leaving the doors open behind him, he returned to the great salon.
The enormous room, filled with silence and darkness, made him feel uneasy.
For a moment, he stood looking back through the long line of rooms he had crossed.
Then, as he turned, he saw a light and his own reflection appearing in one of the large mirrors.
He started.
Other vague shapes seemed to appear on the dark surface.
But he did not stop to examine them.
He quickly returned to the bedroom.
There, he noticed the door of a small round room and opened it.
Everything inside was silent.
As he looked around, his eyes fell upon the portrait of the dead Marchioness.
He stared at it for a long time with curiosity and surprise.
After searching the small room, he returned to the bedroom and lit a fire.
The bright flames restored some of his courage. The silence and darkness had begun to weigh heavily upon him, broken only occasionally by the violent wind outside.
He pulled a small table and chair close to the fire.
Then he took wine and cold food from his basket and ate.
After finishing his meal, he placed his sword on the table.
Since he was not yet ready to sleep, he took out the book he had mentioned.
It was a collection of old Provençal tales.
After stirring the fire until it burned brightly, he began to read.
Soon, the stories completely captured his attention.
Meanwhile, the Count returned to the dining room.
The guests who had followed him to the northern apartments had fled there after Dorothée’s scream, and they were now eagerly discussing what had happened.
The Count laughed at their sudden retreat and criticized their superstition.
This led to a debate.
Could spirits return to earth after death?
And if they could, was it possible for them to appear in visible form?
The Baron believed that spirits might return and that they could possibly become visible. He supported his opinion with examples from ancient and modern writers.
The Count strongly disagreed.
A long discussion followed.
Both sides presented their arguments carefully and respectfully, but neither convinced the other.
Most of the listeners secretly favored the Baron’s opinion.
People naturally enjoy mysteries and wonders that stretch their imagination. Although many of the Count’s arguments were difficult to refute, his opponents believed they only lacked knowledge of the subject and that stronger arguments must exist somewhere.
Blanche listened with great attention and grew pale.
When she noticed her father’s amused expression, she blushed and tried to dismiss the ghost stories she had heard at the convent.
Emily, however, listened with deep interest.
She remembered the strange appearance she had witnessed in the Marchioness’s room, and several times she almost told the Count what she had seen.
But she feared causing him pain and feared becoming the object of his ridicule.
So she remained silent.
Instead, she waited anxiously to learn what would happen to Ludovico.
She decided that the result of his courage would determine whether she spoke of the strange event in the future.
Later that night, after everyone had separated, the Count retired to his dressing room.
The memory of the empty, abandoned rooms of his own château troubled him deeply.
Suddenly, he lifted his head.
“What music is that?” he asked his servant.
“Who is playing at this hour?”
The man remained silent.
The Count listened carefully.
“That is no ordinary musician,” he said. “Whoever plays has a remarkably delicate touch. Pierre, who is it?”
“My lord…” the servant hesitated.
“Who is playing that instrument?” the Count repeated.
“Does your lordship not know?” Pierre asked.
“What do you mean?” said the Count sharply.
“Nothing, my lord. I meant nothing.”
The servant lowered his voice.
“Only that this music is often heard around the château at midnight. I thought your lordship might have heard it before.”
“Music travels through the château at midnight?” the Count said. “Poor fellow. Does nobody dance to it as well?”
“I do not believe it comes from inside the château, my lord. They say it comes from the woods, though it sounds very close. But a spirit can do anything.”
“Ah, poor man,” said the Count. “I see you are as foolish as the others. Tomorrow you will understand your mistake.”
Then he suddenly stopped.
“But listen. What voice is that?”
“Oh, my lord! That is the voice we often hear with the music.”
“Often?” said the Count. “How often?”
“It is a beautiful voice.”
“I myself have only heard it two or three times, my lord. But others who have lived here longer have heard it many times.”
“What a powerful note!” exclaimed the Count.
“And now, what a sorrowful ending!”
“This is surely something beyond ordinary human ability.”
“That is what people say, my lord,” Pierre replied. “They say it is not a human voice.”
“Silence,” said the Count.
He continued listening until the sound disappeared.
“This is strange,” he murmured.
Then he turned away from the window.
“Close the shutters, Pierre.”
The servant obeyed.
Soon afterward, the Count dismissed him.
But he could not dismiss the memory of the music.
The beautiful sounds continued to echo in his mind, while surprise and confusion occupied his thoughts.
Meanwhile, Ludovico remained alone in the distant chamber.
He occasionally heard doors closing as the household went to bed.
Then the great clock in the hall struck twelve.
“Midnight,” he said.
He looked around the large room.
The fire was almost gone because he had been so absorbed in his book that he had forgotten everything else.
He quickly added more wood.
Not because he was cold, although the night was stormy, but because the room felt lonely.
He adjusted his lamp, poured himself another glass of wine, moved his chair closer to the fire, and tried to ignore the wind howling outside the windows.
Then he returned to his book.
Dorothée had lent it to him.
She had found it years earlier in a forgotten corner of the Marquis’s library. After reading some of its strange stories, she had kept it for her own amusement.
The book was old and damaged.
The dampness had ruined the cover, and many pages were stained and faded, making the words difficult to read.
The Provençal stories inside described Arabian legends brought into Spain by the Saracens, or heroic adventures of knights who joined the Crusades.
They were filled with magnificent scenes and extraordinary events.
It was not surprising that Dorothée and Ludovico were fascinated by such tales, since they had once captured the imagination of people from every class.
However, some stories in the book were simpler and lacked the grand style usually found in medieval legends.
The story Ludovico opened was one of these.
It was still filled with the superstitions of the age.
The Provençal Tale
In the province of Bretagne there once lived a noble Baron famous for his wealth, generosity, and hospitality.
His castle was filled with beautiful ladies and brave knights.
Because he honored acts of chivalry, warriors from distant lands came to compete in his tournaments.
His court was more magnificent than those of many princes.
Eight musicians served him, playing songs about Arabian legends, heroic knights from the Crusades, and the great deeds of the Baron himself.
The Baron often sat among his knights and ladies in the great hall, surrounded by magnificent decorations.
The walls were covered with tapestries showing the achievements of his ancestors.
Colored glass windows displayed family symbols.
Golden banners hung from the ceiling.
Silver and gold decorations filled the room.
The tables were covered with countless dishes.
The servants wore rich uniforms.
The guests appeared in splendid clothing.
Together, they created a scene of greatness rarely seen in later times.
One night, after a late banquet, the Baron returned to his chamber and dismissed his servants.
Suddenly, he was shocked to see a stranger standing before him.
The man looked noble but deeply sorrowful.
The Baron could not understand how the stranger had entered.
The guards should have stopped anyone attempting to pass through the outer rooms.
Believing the man must have hidden himself there, the Baron called for his servants, drew his sword, and prepared to defend himself.
The stranger slowly stepped forward.
“Do not fear,” he said. “I come with no hostile intention. I have come to reveal a terrible secret that you must know.”
The stranger’s calm and respectful manner softened the Baron’s anger.
After studying him carefully, the Baron returned his sword to its sheath.
“Explain how you entered this room,” he said. “And tell me why you have come.”
The stranger ignored both questions.
“I cannot explain myself here,” he said. “But if you follow me to the edge of the forest beyond the castle walls, I will reveal something important.”
The Baron became suspicious again.
He could not believe a stranger wanted him to leave the safety of his castle at such a late hour without intending harm.
“If your purpose is honorable,” he replied, “then you can tell me here.”
The Baron continued studying the stranger.
Yet he saw no sign of evil.
The man was dressed like a knight.
He was tall, dignified, and courteous.
Still, he refused to reveal his secret anywhere except the forest.
After hinting that the matter concerned the Baron’s future, he awakened such curiosity that the Baron finally agreed to follow him.
But only under certain conditions.
“Sir knight,” said the Baron, “I will accompany you to the forest, but I will bring four of my men as witnesses.”
The knight refused.
“What I must reveal is meant only for you,” he said.
“Only three living people know this secret. It concerns you and your family more than you understand.”
“Years from now, you will look back upon this night with either gratitude or regret, depending on what you decide now.”
“If you wish for future prosperity, follow me.”
“I swear upon my honor as a knight that no harm will come to you.”
“But if you do not wish to risk the unknown, remain here, and I will leave as I came.”
The Baron wondered how his future happiness could depend on this strange choice.
The knight only replied:
“That cannot be explained now. Time is passing. If you follow me, you must decide quickly.”
The Baron looked at the knight’s serious expression and felt torn between fear and curiosity.
[The rest of Ludovico’s reading continues into the next part of the tale.]