"I think," he said, "that you have seen the phantom of Lucrèce Borgia. What a risk you incurred! Dangerous as she was while living, just think for a moment what she must be now that she is dead! It is enough to make one shake in his shoes."
"Joking apart, what could it have been?"
"That is to say that the gentleman is a philosopher and an atheist and has no faith in the things most worthy of respect. Very good; what say you then to this other hypothesis? Let us suppose that the old harridan lends her house to women who are not above addressing gentlemen who pass along the street. There have been old women depraved enough to ply that trade."
"That sounds reasonable enough," I said, "but then I must have a very goody-goody air for the old woman not to have made me the offer of her services. The supposition is offensive to me. And then, my dear fellow, remember how the house was furnished. It could scarcely please anyone unless he were possessed with a devil."
"In that case it is a spook, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Hold on, though! Here is just one hypothesis remaining: you made a mistake in the house. Parbleu! I have it: near a garden? a little low door? Well, it is my old friend Rosina. It is less than a year and a half ago that she was the principal ornament of that street. It is true that she has gone blind, but that's a mere detail; she still has a very handsome profile."
None of these explanations were satisfactory to me. When evening came I walked slowly past the house of Lucrèce. I saw nothing. I turned and passed it
