It passes all belief.
The theory I have formed from the incident is so absurd that I would
rather matters remained as yet unexplained."
Saying which the young reporter invited me to go and make the tour
of the chateau with him. The only sound to be heard was the
crunching of the dead leaves beneath our feet. The silence was so
intense that one might have thought the chateau had been abandoned.
The old stones, the stagnant water of the ditch surrounding the
donjon, the bleak ground strewn with the dead leaves, the dark,
skeleton-like outlines of the trees, all contributed to give to the
desolate place, now filled with its awful mystery, a most funereal
aspect. As we passed round the donjon, we met the Green Man, the
forest-keeper, who did not greet us, but walked by as if we had not
existed. He was looking just as I had formerly seen him through
the window of the Donjon Inn. He had still his fowling-piece slung
at his back, his pipe was in his mouth, and his eye-glasses on his
nose.
"An odd kind of fish!" Rouletabille said to me, in a low tone.
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