The sky had turned to a steel gray,
against which the villa stood out sallow and inscrutable.
A wind strayed through the gardens, loosening here
and there a yellow leaf from the sycamores; and the
hills across the valley were purple as thunder-clouds.
* * * *
*
“And the statue—?” I asked.
“Ah, the statue. Well,
sir, this is what my grandmother told me, here on
this very bench where we’re sitting. The
poor child, who worshipped the Duchess as a girl of
her years will worship a beautiful kind mistress,
spent a night of horror, you may fancy, shut out from
her lady’s room, hearing the cries that came
from it, and seeing, as she crouched in her corner,
the women rush to and fro with wild looks, the Duke’s
lean face in the door, and the chaplain skulking in
the antechamber with his eyes on his breviary.
No one minded her that night or the next morning; and
toward dusk, when it became known the Duchess was
no more, the poor girl felt the pious wish to say
a prayer for her dead mistress. She crept to the
chapel and stole in unobserved. The place was
empty and dim, but as she advanced she heard a low
moaning, and coming in front of the statue she saw
that its face, the day before so sweet and smiling,
had the look on it that you know—and the
moaning seemed to come from its lips. My grandmother
turned cold, but something, she said afterward, kept
her from calling or shrieking out, and she turned
and ran from the place. In the passage she fell
in a swoon; and when she came to her senses, in her
own chamber, she heard that the Duke had locked the
chapel door and forbidden any to set foot there….
The place was never opened again till the Duke died,
some ten years later; and then it was that the other
servants, going in with the new heir, saw for the
first time the horror that my grandmother had kept
in her bosom….”
“And the crypt?” I asked. “Has
it never been opened?”
“Heaven forbid, sir!”
cried the old man, crossing himself. “Was
it not the Duchess’s express wish that the relics
should not be disturbed?”