Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick. Michelle was too polite to put it into words. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones.
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