Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 113: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

92 Alfred de Rosann. casting a glance at the turkey, and then turning to the farmer: “ to judge by your suppers, your dinners must be exquisite.” ‘‘ Ah! I understand your allusion,” answered the man: “ it is true we have fared sumptuously to-day—which is not our custom; for our means are limited, and our wants easily satisfied. The fact is, that about four hours ago a carriage broke down in the main road close by, and three travellers, with a servant, were obliged to put up at my house; for one of the ladies—” ‘‘ There were ladies amongst them, eh?” interrupted Belle-Rose, in that careless manner which he frequently assumed. ‘‘ Two ladies and a gentleman,” replied the farmer ; “and the elder of the ladies hurt her ancle in such a manner that it was impossible for her to proceed on foot, as the gentleman at first proposed. But it appears that they were in no particular hurry to arrive at St. Malo—and when I offered the use of my rooms, with good food, and good beds, the whole party resolved upon staying here till the morning. That is the secret of the roast turkey and the boiled ham,’ added the peasant with a smile. “¢ Are we not intruding, then, upon your hospitality?” asked De Ro- sann. ‘* Your house must be full—and we are perhaps two too many.” ‘* Not at all,’’ answered the farmer, with a sincerity that the most sus- picious could not doubt; “the dwelling is spacious enough; and if you do not care about sleeping in a room that has never been occupied for upwards of thirty-three years, it is at your service. There are exactly two bedsteads in the apartment; and when you have done your supper, I will myself fetch a couple of mattresses, sheets, and blankets, to place upon them.” ‘‘ This will turn out an adventure, my dear fellow,” cried Belle- Rose, addressing himself to Alfred. ‘ A chamber not occupied for the third of a century—a haunted room, perhaps, such as you read of in the works of an English authoress of repute, Ann Radcliffe, Ithink. Oh! assur- edly this is an adventure !’’--and Belle-Rose laughed heartily at his conceit. “‘ You do not believe in ghosts, then?” inquired the farmer with a singular expression of countenance, which involved a degree of mystery unintelligible to our hero and his fellow-traveller. ‘* Certainly not; nor does any rational being,’ returned Belle-Rose, without a moment’s hesitation. “ Nor I,” added the farmer; ‘‘ and since you treat superstitious tales with the same ridicule as I do, I will explain wherefore the chamber in question has been locked up during a period of thirty-three years. Had you been afraid of spirits, I should have remained silent.” “ But you would have suffered us to sleep in your haunted room all the same,” interrupted De Rosann with a smile. “ Yes,” said the peasant, “because I have no other apartment to give you, and because I know that you may sleep in that one with impunity, as the story of its being haunted is a silly fable handed down to me by my deceased father. It is as follows:— About thirty-three years ago my father was sitting one evening in this very room, when a violent knock at the gate aroused him from his supper, and drew him to the door. A traveller demanded a night’s lodging, as you, gentlemen, have done ere row, and as hundreds do in the course of the year. My COnicbooolks (GO)