III. We Compare Notes

by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu · 2026-03-31

We watched the procession until it vanished into the misty woods, the sound of hooves and wheels fading into the stillness of the night.

For a moment, we were left wondering if it had all been a dream, until the young lady stirred and opened her eyes. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was looking around. Then, in a soft, plaintive voice, she asked, “Where is my mother?”

Madame Perrodon responded gently, offering her some comforting words.

The young lady then asked, “Where am I? What is this place?” Her voice trembled as she continued, “I don’t see the carriage. And Matska, where is she?”

Madame answered her questions as best as she could. Gradually, the young lady began to piece together what had happened. She felt relieved to hear that no one in the carriage had been hurt. But when she learned that her mother had left her here for about three months, she began to cry.

I was about to offer my own words of comfort when Mademoiselle De Lafontaine placed her hand on my arm. “Don’t get too close. She can only handle one visitor at a time right now; too much excitement might overwhelm her.”

I thought to myself that once she was settled in bed, I would go up and see her.

Meanwhile, my father had sent a servant on horseback to fetch the doctor, who lived about two leagues away. A bedroom was being prepared for the young lady’s arrival.

The stranger rose, leaning on Madame’s arm as she walked slowly over the drawbridge and through the castle gate.

Inside the hall, servants were waiting to greet her, and she was promptly taken to her room. The drawing room we usually gathered in was long, with four windows overlooking the moat and drawbridge, framed by the forest I had just described.

It was furnished with intricately carved oak, featuring large cabinets and chairs upholstered in rich crimson velvet. The walls were adorned with tapestries and surrounded by grand gold frames, depicting life-sized figures in ancient, curious costumes engaged in hunting and festive activities. It was elegant yet cozy, the perfect setting for our evening tea, which my father insisted on serving alongside our coffee and chocolate, as was his patriotic custom.

That night, we sat in the drawing room, candles flickering as we discussed the evening’s events. Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine were with us. The young stranger had barely settled into bed before she fell into a deep sleep, leaving the ladies to entrust her care to a servant.

“How do you like our guest?” I asked as soon as Madame entered. “Tell me everything!”

“I like her very much,” Madame replied. “I think she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen—about your age, and so gentle and kind.”

“She’s absolutely beautiful,” Mademoiselle chimed in, having peeked into the stranger’s room for a moment.

“And such a sweet voice!” added Madame Perrodon.

“Did you notice the woman in the carriage?” Mademoiselle asked. “The one who didn’t get out but just looked out the window?”

“No, we didn’t see her,” I replied.

She described a terrifying woman with dark skin, wearing a colorful turban, who had been peering out of the carriage, nodding and grinning at us with gleaming eyes and bared teeth, as if mocking us.

“Did you see how ill-looking the menservants were?” Madame asked.

“Yes,” my father said, just entering the room. “They were the ugliest, most sinister-looking fellows I’ve ever seen. I hope they don’t rob the poor lady in the forest. They seemed clever enough, though; they got everything sorted out in no time.”

“I suppose they’re just exhausted from traveling too long,” Madame suggested.

“Besides looking wicked, their faces were strangely gaunt, dark, and sullen. I’m very curious, I admit, but I suspect the young lady will tell you everything tomorrow, once she’s feeling better.”

“I doubt she will,” my father said with a mysterious smile and a nod, as if he knew more than he was letting on.

This only piqued our curiosity about what had transpired between him and the woman in black velvet during their brief but intense conversation before her departure.

As soon as we were alone, I urged him to share what he knew. He didn’t need much convincing.

“There’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you. She seemed hesitant to impose on us with the care of her daughter, mentioning that the girl was in delicate health and nervous, but not prone to any seizures—she made sure to clarify that—and she was perfectly sane.”

"That was quite strange to say!" I interjected. "It really wasn't necessary."

"Well, it was said," he chuckled. "And since you want to know everything that happened, which honestly wasn't much, I'll tell you. She said, 'I'm embarking on a long journey of vital importance'—she really emphasized that word—'a rapid and secret journey. I will return for my child in three months; in the meantime, she must remain silent about who we are, where we come from, and where we are going.' That was all she said. Her French was impeccable. When she mentioned the word 'secret,' she paused for a moment, staring intently into my eyes. I think that was very important to her. You saw how quickly she left. I hope I haven't done something foolish by taking charge of the young lady."

I, on the other hand, was thrilled. I couldn't wait to see and talk to her, just waiting for the doctor to give me the green light. Those of you who live in cities can't possibly understand how significant the arrival of a new friend is in such isolation as we experienced.

The doctor didn't arrive until nearly one o'clock, but I couldn't have gone to bed and slept any more than I could have caught up with the carriage that had whisked away the princess in black velvet.

When the physician finally came down to the drawing room, he had good news about his patient. She was sitting up, her pulse steady, looking perfectly fine. She had sustained no injuries, and the little shock to her nerves had passed without any harm. There was certainly no reason I couldn't see her if we both wanted to, so I immediately sent a message to ask if she would allow me to visit her for a few minutes in her room.

The servant returned right away to say that she wanted nothing more than that.

You can be sure I didn’t waste any time taking advantage of that permission.

Our visitor was resting in one of the most elegant rooms in the castle. It was perhaps a bit grand. A dark tapestry hung opposite the foot of the bed, depicting Cleopatra with the asps cradled to her chest, while other solemn classic scenes adorned the walls, slightly faded. Yet, the gold carvings and rich colors in the room's other decorations more than compensated for the gloom of the old tapestry.

Candles flickered at the bedside. She was sitting up, her slender figure wrapped in a soft silk dressing gown, embroidered with flowers and lined with thick quilted silk, which her mother had draped over her feet while she lay on the ground.

As I approached the bedside and began my greeting, something struck me dumb and made me take a step back.

I recognized the very face that had haunted my childhood dreams, a face that had lingered in my memory and filled me with dread for years, all while no one suspected what I was thinking.

It was pretty, even beautiful, and when I first saw it, it wore the same melancholy expression.

But that expression quickly transformed into a strange, fixed smile of recognition.

We shared a silence for a full minute before she finally spoke; I couldn’t find my voice.

“How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Twelve years ago, I saw your face in a dream, and it has haunted me ever since.”

“Wonderful indeed!” I echoed, forcing myself to overcome the horror that had momentarily silenced me. “Twelve years ago, whether in a dream or reality, I certainly saw you. I couldn’t forget your face; it has been before my eyes ever since.”

Her smile softened. Whatever I had found strange about it vanished, and now it, along with her dimpling cheeks, was delightfully pretty and full of intelligence.

I felt reassured and continued in a hospitable tone, welcoming her and expressing how much joy her unexpected arrival had brought us all, especially me.

I took her hand as I spoke. I felt a bit shy, as lonely people often do, but the situation made me feel eloquent and even bold. She squeezed my hand, laid hers on top of mine, and her eyes sparkled as she quickly glanced into mine, smiling again and blushing.

She responded to my welcome with charming grace. I sat down beside her, still in awe, and she said:

“I have to share something strange with you. It’s incredible that both of us had such vivid dreams of each other when we were just kids. I remember being about six years old, waking up from a confusing dream in a room that wasn’t my nursery. The walls were made of dark wood, and there were cupboards, beds, and benches scattered around. I thought I was alone, and as I looked around, I noticed an iron candlestick with two branches that caught my eye. I crawled under one of the beds to get to the window, but as I came out, I heard someone crying. When I looked up, still on my knees, I saw you—without a doubt, it was you—just like you are now: a beautiful young lady with golden hair, large blue eyes, and those lips—your lips.

“I was captivated by your beauty. I climbed onto the bed and wrapped my arms around you, and I think we both fell asleep. I was jolted awake by a scream; you were sitting up, terrified. I panicked and slipped to the floor, and for a moment, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was back in my nursery. Your face has stayed with me ever since. I could never mistake you for anyone else. _You are_ the lady I saw back then.”

Now it was my turn to share my own dream, and I could see the wonder in her eyes as I spoke.

“I don’t know who should be more afraid of the other,” she said, smiling again. “If you weren’t so pretty, I might be scared of you, but since you are, and we’re both so young, I feel like I’ve known you for twelve years already. It seems like we were meant to be friends from the very beginning. I wonder if you feel as drawn to me as I do to you. I’ve never had a friend—could that change now?” She sighed, her dark eyes looking at me with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

Honestly, I felt a strange mix of emotions towards this beautiful stranger. I was definitely drawn to her, but there was also a hint of something that pushed me away. Still, the attraction was overwhelming. She intrigued me and captivated my attention; her beauty was simply enchanting.

I noticed a hint of fatigue washing over her, so I quickly said goodnight.

“The doctor thinks you should have someone stay with you tonight. One of our maids is waiting, and she’s very quiet and helpful,” I suggested.

“That’s so kind of you, but I can’t sleep with someone else in the room. I’ve never been able to. And I’ll confess, I have this irrational fear of robbers. Our house was robbed once, and two servants were murdered, so I always lock my door. It’s just a habit now—and you seem so kind, I hope you understand. I see there’s a key in the lock.”

She pulled me close for a moment, whispering in my ear, “Goodnight, darling. It’s so hard to say goodbye, but goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, but not too early.”

She sank back onto the pillow with a sigh, her beautiful eyes following me with a fond, wistful gaze as she murmured once more, “Goodnight, dear friend.”

Young people often fall for each other on impulse. I felt flattered by the affection she showed me, even if I hadn’t earned it yet. I liked how confidently she welcomed me into her life. She was determined that we would be close friends.

The next day came, and we met again. I was thrilled to see her; in many ways, she was everything I had hoped for.

In the daylight, her beauty was even more striking. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful person I had ever seen, and the unsettling memory of the face from my childhood dream had faded away.

She admitted that she had felt a similar shock upon seeing me, along with the same strange unease that had mingled with her admiration. We laughed together about our momentary fears, feeling a bond grow between us.