The old woman stirred no more than the rock-hewn pillars on each side of
the hearthstone, and her lips were mumbling inarticulate sounds.
My heart was palpitating, my fears increased momentarily during the long
silence, made more startling by the motionless supernatural figure that
sat there before me.
This had lasted a quarter of an hour when, the fire catching a splinter
of fir-wood, a flash of light broke out, the shaving twisted and flamed,
and a few rays of light flared to the end of the room.
That luminous jet was sufficient to show me that the creature was clothed
in an old dress of rich purple silk as stiff as cardboard, with a violet
pattern; there was a massive bracelet upon her left wrist, and a gold
arrow stuck through her thick grey hair twisted over the back of her
head. It was like an apparition out of the ages past.
Still the Plague could have had no hostile intentions towards me, or
she might easily have taken advantage of my sleep to have put them in
execution.
That thought was beginning to give me some confidence, when suddenly she
rose from her seat and with slow steps approached my bed, holding in her
hand a torch which she had just lighted.
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