"joseph buquet would do better to hold his tongue.""why should he hold his tongue?" asked somebody.
"that's mother's opinion," replied meg, lowering her voice and looking all about her as though fearing lest other ears than those present might overhear.
"and why is it your mother's opinion?"
"hush! mother says the ghost doesn't like being talked about.""and why does your mother say so?"
"because--because--nothing--"
this reticence exasperated the curiosity of the young ladies, who crowded round little giry, begging her to explain herself.
they were there, side by side, leaning forward simultaneously in one movement of entreaty and fear, communicating their terror to one another, taking a keen pleasure in feeling their blood freeze in their veins.
"i swore not to tell!" gasped meg.
but they left her no peace and promised to keep the secret, until meg, burning to say all she knew, began, with her eyes fixed on the door:
"well, it's because of the private box."
"what private box?"
"the ghost's box!"
"has the ghost a box? oh, do tell us, do tell us!""not so loud!" said meg."it's box five, you know, the box on the grand tier, next to the stage-box, on the left.""oh, nonsense!"
"i tell you it is.mother has charge of it.but you swear you won't say a word?""of course, of course."
"well, that's the ghost's box.no one has had it for over a month, except the ghost, and orders have been given at the box-office that it must never be sold.""and does the ghost really come there?"
"yes."
"then somebody does come?"
"why, no! the ghost comes, but there is nobody there."the little ballet-girls exchanged glances.if the ghost came to the box, he must be seen, because he wore a dress-coat and a death's head.
this was what they tried to make meg understand, but she replied:
"that's just it! the ghost is not seen.and he has no dress-coat and no head! all that talk about his death's head and his head of fire is nonsense! there's nothing in it.you only hear him when he is in the box.mother has never seen him, but she has heard him.