I was not
alarmed; my nerves are now much healthier, and I wisely make a point
of not getting them unstrung by violent movements, or unaccustomed
feats of activity, when anything astonishing happens. I therefore
lifted my head calmly and looked about,--it might be a mouse. The
noise ceased that instant, as if the intruder were aware of being
observed. Mice sometimes have this instinct. We had some valuable
new confections, which I had no desire should be disposed of by such
customers. So, taking up my lamp, and peering cautiously about me, I
proceeded to the shop. The light flickered,--flickered on something
tall and white,--something white and shadowy, standing erect,
and shrinking aside, behind the counter. My heart stood still;
a sepulchral chill came over me. My old self, trembling,
angry, foreboding, stepped suddenly within the niche whence the
self-confident, full-grown, sensible woman had vanished utterly. For
an instant, I felt like a ghost myself. It seemed natural that ghosts,
if such there were, should spy me out, and appall my heart with their
presence. For there, in that old, haunted spot, where long years ago
the spectre of little Jacques had lifted its menacing finger, stood
the form of Marie, Madame C----.
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