Rene Bache

“ Not daring to believe my senses, I replied:
"And this house—?"
"Sh—h!" said Mabel. "t is only the ghost of a house,—the phantasmal reproduction of an old mansion that used to stand on this spot, where there has been an empty lot for fifteen years past."
"I—I think I understand," I gasped. Then, though my brain swam, I made a tremendous effort to summon up my courage and face composedly this dreadful situation. Addressing myself to the old woman opposite, I said:
"Perchance you were acquainted with the former occupants of this dwelling?" ”

“ At length, the old woman with the camellias in her hair, who sat opposite, addressed me, saying:
"Why do you think that Mabel is not dead?"
"Good God!" I replied. "Here she is. Don't you see her? What do these people mean?"
The old woman grinned and waved her feather fan at me, playfully, saying:
"Ask her if she isn't dead?"
I turned to Mabel in wonderment, but she only shook her head sadly.
"Why, of course she's dead!" said the old woman. "Don't you know that all of us here are dead?"
"Indeed, yes; we are all dead," cried the other guests in general chorus. ”

“ Said she sympathetically:
"That is the way with all pleasures in the after world. They seem to have no savor. Even the milk is chalk and water."
"I suppose that is why this mince pie tastes so insipid," I responded, toying absently with a bit of pastry on my plate.
"Of course it is," she said. "Don't you see it is only the ghost of a mince pie."
"Then it seems that—"
But at this point the banquet was suddenly interrupted by a convulsive swaying and creaking of timbers. The table rocked, the lights in the silver candelabra flickered, and all was darkness. ”