He begged us to put him in consecrated ground, and we carried him, you and I, to the Fontainebleau cemetery.

On reaching my mother's tomb we saw that the stone was displaced.

My mother, in a white robe, was moved so as to make a place beside her, and she seemed waiting for the colonel.

But every time we attempted to lay him down, the coffin left our hands and rested suspended in the air, as if it had no weight.

I could distinguish the poor old man's features, for his triple coffin had become as transparent as the alabaster lamp burning near the ceiling of my chamber.