Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
“I haven’t any beard,” retorted Edouard, starting up, “but just the same if I was strong enough to carry the boar, I’d go fetch it myself either by day or night.”
“Much good may it do you, my young gentleman. But neither my comrade nor myself would go, even for a whole louis.”
“Nor for two?” said Roland, wishing to corner them.
“Nor for two, nor four, nor ten, Monsieur de Montrevel. Ten louis are good, but what could I do with them if my neck was broken?”
“Yes, twisted like Pierre Marey’s,” said the other peasant.
“Ten louis wouldn’t feed my wife and children for the rest of my life, would they?”
“And besides, when you say ten louis,” interrupted the second peasant, “you mean really five, because I’d get five, too.”
“So the pavilion is haunted by ghosts, is it?” asked Roland.
“I didn’t say the pavilion—I’m not sure about the pavilion—but in the Chartreuse—”
“In the Chartreuse, are you sure?”
“Oh! there, certainly.”
“Have you seen them?”
“I haven’t; but some folks have.”
“Has your comrade?” asked the young officer, turning to the second peasant.
“I haven’t seen them; but I did see flames, and Claude Philippon heard chains.”
“Ah! so they have flames and chains?” said Roland.
“Yes,” replied the first peasant, “for I have seen the flames myself.”
“And Claude Philippon on heard the chains,” repeated the other.
“Very good, my friends, very good,” replied Roland, sneering; “so you won’t go there to-night at any price?”
“Not at any price.”
“Not for all the gold in the world.”
“And you’ll go to-morrow when it’s light?”
“Oh! Monsieur Louis, before you’re up the boar will be here.”
“Before you’re up,” said Echo.
“All right,” said Roland. “Come back to me the day after tomorrow.”
“Willingly, Monsieur Louis. What do you want us to do?”
“Never mind; just come.”
“Oh! we’ll come.”
“That means that the moment you say, ‘Come,’ you can count upon us, Monsieur Louis.”
“Well, then I’ll have some information for you.”
“What about?”
“The ghosts.”
Amélie gave a stifled cry; Madame de Montrevel alone heard it. Louis dismissed the two peasants, and they jostled each other at the door in their efforts to go through together.
Nothing more was said that evening about the Chartreuse or the pavilion, nor of its supernatural tenants, spectres or phantoms who haunted them.
CHAPTER XV. THE STRONG-MINDED MAN
At ten o’clock everyone was in bed at the Château des Noires-Fontaines, or, at any rate, all had retired to their rooms.
Three or four times in the course of the evening Amélie had approached Roland as if she had something to say to him; but each time the words died upon her lips. When the family left the salon, she had taken his arm, and, although his room was on the floor above hers, she had accompanied him to his very door. Roland had kissed her, bade her good-night, and closed his door, declaring himself very tired.
Nevertheless, in spite of this assertion, Roland, once alone, did not proceed to undress. He went to his collection of arms, selected a pair of magnificent pistols, manufactured at Versailles, and presented to his father by the Convention. He snapped the triggers, and blew into the barrels to see that there were no old charges in them. They were in excellent condition. After which he laid them side by side on the table; then going to the door, looking out upon the stairs, he opened it softly to see if any one were watching. Finding the corridor and stairs empty, he went to Sir John’s door and knocked.
“Come in,” said the Englishman. Sir John, like himself, was not prepared for bed.
“I guessed from the sign you made me that you had something to say to me,” said Sir John, “so I waited for you, as you see.”
“Indeed, I have something to say to you,” returned Roland, seating himself gayly in an armchair.
“My kind host,” replied the Englishman, “I am beginning to understand you. When I see you as gay as you are now, I am like your peasants, I feel afraid.”
“Did you hear what they were saying?”
“I heard them tell a splendid ghost story. I, myself, have a haunted castle in England.”
“Have you ever seen the ghosts, my lord?”
“Yes, when I was little. Unfortunately, since I have grown up they have disappeared.”
“That’s always the way with ghosts,” said Roland gayly; “they come and go. How lucky it is that I should return just as the ghosts have begun to haunt the Chartreuse of Seillon.”
“Yes,” replied Sir John, “very lucky. Only are you sure that there are any there?”
“No. But I’ll know by the day after to-morrow.”
“How so?”
“I intend to spend to-morrow night there.”
“Oh!” said the Englishmen, “would you like to have me go with you?”
“With pleasure, my lord. Only, unfortunately, that is impossible.”
“Impossible, oh!”
“As I have just told you, my dear fellow.”
“But why impossible?”
“Are you acquainted with the manners and customs of ghosts, Sir John?” asked Roland gravely.
“No.”
“Well, I am. Ghosts only show themselves under certain conditions.”
“Explain that.”
“Well, for example, in Italy, my lord, and in Spain, the most superstitious of countries, there are no ghosts, or if there are, why, at the best, it’s only once
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