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 one of the galleries, wrapped in a white shroud, with a bloody turban on its head. She had fainted away with fear; and, when she recovered, she found herself in the dark, and the figure was gone. "Sacre—cochon—bleu!" exclaimed Fatout, giving very deliberate emphasis to every portion of his terrible oath,—"I vould not meet de revenant, de ghost—non—not for all de bowl-de-ponch in de vorld."

"Fatout," said the Honorable Mr. Listless, "did I ever see a ghost?"

"Jamais, Monsieur, never."

"Then I hope I never shall, for, in the present shattered state of my nerves, I am afraid it would be too much for me. There—loosen the lace of my stays a little, for really this plebeian practice of eating—Not too loose—consider my shape. That will do. And I desire that you bring me no more stories of