A week ago he would have
laughed to scorn the notion that the dead ever revisit the earth, as so
many of us believe they do, but the four nights he had spent at the
Pension Malfait, had shaken his conviction that "dead men rise up never."
Most reluctantly he had come to the conclusion that the Pension Malfait
was haunted.
And the feeling of unease did not vanish even after he had taken his bath
in the queer bath-room, of which the Malfaits were so proud, or later,
when he had eaten the excellent breakfast provided for him. On the
contrary, the thought of going up to his bed-room, even in broad
daylight, filled him with a kind of shrinking fear.
He told himself angrily that this kind of thing could not go on. The
sleepless nights made him ill--he who never was ill; also he was losing
precious days of his short holiday, while doing no good to himself and no
good to Sylvia.
Sending for the hotel-keeper, he curtly told him that he meant to leave
Lacville that evening.
M. Malfait expressed much sorrow and regret. Was M'sieur not comfortable?
Was there anything he could do to prolong his English guest's stay?
No, M'sieur had every reason to be satisfied, but--but had M.
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