“I was just going home, when suddenly a chambermaid came in with a
frightened air to tell the countess that her older daughter, little
Martha, whom you know, had just been seized with terrible convulsions.
Of course I went to see her, and found her suffering from a truly
fearful nervous attack. It was only with great difficulty I could quiet
her; and when I thought she had recovered, suspecting that there might
be some connection between her attack and the accident that had befallen
her father, I said in the most paternal tone I could assume, ‘Now my
child, you must tell me what was the matter.’ She hesitated a while, and
then she said, ‘I was frightened.’--‘Frightened at what, my darling?’
She raised herself on her bed, trying to consult her mother’s eyes; but
I had placed myself between them, so that she could not see them. When I
repeated my question, she said, ‘Well, you see, I had just gone to bed,
when I heard the bell ring. I got up, and went to the window to see
who could be coming so late. I saw the servant go and open the door,
a candlestick in her hand, and come back to the house, followed by a
gentleman, whom I did not know.’ The countess interrupted her here,
saying, ‘It was a messenger from the court, who had been sent to me with
an urgent letter.’ But I pretended not to hear her; and, turning still
to Martha, I asked again, ‘And it was this gentleman who frightened you
so?’--‘Oh, no!’--‘What then?’ Out of the corner of my eye I was watching
the countess. She seemed to be terribly embarrassed. Still she did not
dare to stop her daughter. ‘Well, doctor,’ said the little girl, ‘no
sooner had the gentleman gone into the house than I saw one of the
statues under the trees there come down from its pedestal, move on, and
glide very quietly along the avenue of lime-trees.’”