"
At that instant a woman sprang from beneath a chestnut-tree standing
to the right of the gate, and, without making any noise, passed before
the marquis as rapidly as the shadow of a cloud. This vision made him
mute with surprise.
"Why, Albon, what's the matter?" asked the colonel.
"I am rubbing my eyes to know if I am asleep or awake," replied the
marquis, with his face close to the iron rails as he tried to get
another sight of the phantom.
"She must be beneath that fig-tree," he said, pointing to the foliage
of a tree which rose above the wall to the left of the gate.
"She! who?"
"How can I tell?" replied Monsieur d'Albon. "A strange woman rose up
there, just before me," he said in a low voice; "she seemed to come
from the world of shades rather than from the land of the living. She
is so slender, so light, so filmy, she must be diaphanous. Her face
was as white as milk; her eyes, her clothes, her hair jet black. She
looked at me as she flitted by, and though I may say I'm no coward,
that cold immovable look froze the blood in my veins."
"Is she pretty?" asked Philippe.
"I don't know. I could see nothing but the eyes in that face."
"Well, let the dinner at Cassan go to the devil!" cried the colonel.
"Suppose we stay here.
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