human
And now for the ghost story after my long narrative, which I am afraid must have bored you sadly.
gpt
Oh, don't think it! I have been thrilled by it. Please go on,
human
You are very kind to find it interesting. It always excites me, especially when I think how close little Henri was to being killed; and had he not been spared, I myself could never have come into existence.
gpt
That would have been a calamity, indeed,
human
Would it have made any difference to you, Cousin Molly? I should like to think it would have made some difference to you,
gpt
Of course it would make loads of difference to all of us, Philippe. But the ghost story, the ghost story! I believe you are afraid to tell it to me.
human
Well, the legend runs that on a stormy night if the floor of the chapel, which is paved with soapstone, gets wet, the footprints of the Lady Elizabeth, where she ran across the deluged floor, are plainly visible. She was just out of her bed and her feet were bare. They say it shows she had a very small foot with a high arch, the print of the heel, a space where the instep arches over, and then the ball of the foot and the tiny toes. Peasants passing in the field above have heard (provided the night is stormy enough), the agonizing cry, 'God help me, God help me!' seeming to come from the old steeple.
gpt
How wonderful! But tell me, have you never seen the footprints yourself?
human
Mother has such a horror of the story and the talk about ghosts that I have spared her feelings and never put the legend to the test. I used to think I'd go some stormy night alone to the chapel, but when the stormy nights come I am too sleepy or too indolent or afraid of disturbing mother or something else turns up, and I never have done it.