A rustle like that of a sheet or a gown trailing along the grass was audible on his right, not ten paces from him.

He straightened up as if moved by a spring.
At the same moment a shade appeared on the threshold of the vast hall.
This shade resembled the ancient statues lying on the tombs.

It was wrapped in an immense winding-sheet which trailed behind it.
For an instant Roland doubted his own eyes.

Had the preoccupation of his mind made him see a thing which was not?
Was he the dupe of his senses, the sport of those hallucinations which physicians assert, but cannot explain?
A moan, uttered by the phantom, put his doubts to flight.
"My faith!" he cried in a burst of laughter, "now for a tussle, friend ghost!" The spectre paused and extended a hand toward the young officer.
"Roland! Roland!" said the spectre in a muffled voice, "it would be a pity not to follow to the grave those you have sent there." And the spectre, without hastening its step, continued on its way.
Roland, astounded for an instant, came down from the stage, and resolutely followed the ghost.

The path was difficult, encumbered with stones, benches awry, and over-turned tables.