— "Nothing frightens me now. Remember the promise you made. I live here, and you must leave me."

It was hard for me to obey her, yet I did not dare go against her. As she moved away I asked her:

— Shall I come to see you tomorrow?

She turned for a moment and gave a laugh that pained me, and said:

— "Tomorrow? Yes — tomorrow!!"

And her slender ghost of a figure vanished from my sight among the trees. I stayed a while without moving, hesitating; then I came to my senses at the madness and shortsightedness of what I had done, and I set off running, shouting:

— "Ornella! Ornella!"

Nothing answered me but the movement of the night birds' quiet wings, like the fans of the night. Once more I called that name, which passed uselessly from branch to branch... Then an ill-omened cry answered me: it was the cry of an owl waking from her sleep, who began to dart her dull stare at me!

The next day I hurried back to the forest. It was not hard for me to recognize the place where I had stopped the night before; I got down from my car and walked along the path. After a little a small hut showed itself among the trees — surely the dread girl lived in it.

I knocked at its great wooden door, and it was opened by an old woman dressed in mourning clothes, who looked at me in sur-prise; I supposed that this lonely old woman was seldom visited by anyone. Then I said to her:

— "I have come for Miss Ornella."

She shot me a hard look after a troubled shrug of her shoulders. I went on:

— "Please, let me see her for a moment! I brought her here yesterday evening."

But the old woman kept staring at me, alarmed and afraid; then she made up her mind to answer me, and said with a sad gentleness:

— "Come." And how immense was the shock when I followed her into the garden and saw a grave ringed with the flowers of the field. The grandmother knelt, and her silent tears ran down the channel they had worn for themselves in her cheeks. As for me, I began to spell out the words carved on the headstone: "Here lies Ornella. God took her on the twenty-fifth of May, 1947, at eighteen years of age. Pray for her."

Then the old woman sobbed:

— "She is my granddaughter. She died in a motorcar collision at the crossroads just before the forest, when she was on her way to attend an evening dance — the first of her life."

I felt a certain agitation, and I reflected on my situation: here we are in the year 1948, so the girl of last night must be someone other than this girl, who is also called Ornella. We walked back to the house, both of us sorrowful. The old woman said to me:

— "Come in and rest a little."

I did not refuse. I entered a small room fitted up for receiving guests, and I saw the portrait of a girl set in the place of honor upon a side table, like the Virgin, her radiant face wreathed about with fresh roses.

I stared at it in stupefaction, and

my color suddenly drained away... My hostess said: "What is the matter?" I answered her:

— "It is she! The girl with whom I spent my evening last night!... I know her eyes, her smile, even the shape of her mouth..." But the old woman protested:

— "You are mad, young man! My poor granddaughter died a year ago... and yesterday was the first anniversary of her death! Did you not see her grave just now?"

— "It is she... it is Ornella..." And I kept gazing at the portrait with wandering eyes. But the grand-mother shook her head sadly and said simply:

— "Come, let me show you a keepsake I have preserved of her: her gown, which she had made ready for the first evening party of her life."

I followed her into a room adjoining the one we were in. The first thing that caught my eye was that the room we entered had, beyond doubt, been abandoned for months. Everything in it remained as it had been, and a faint fragrance of perfume still hung in its air... The silk stockings lay flung over a chair here, and the little satin shoes were set out beneath the wardrobe there. We approached the bed with rever-ence: the evening gown lay spread upon it, as it had lain since that ill-fated night, as though awaiting the young body it would wrap within its folds for the first time...

And the weeping old woman could do nothing but make the sign of the cross and cry out:

— "Look! Look!! None of this was on the gown yesterday!.."

And with her trembling finger she pointed to the red stains that soiled the white gown!..