He repeatedly apologized for my misfortunes and seemed much relieved that I chose to be so magnanimous about the whole affair. He then offered me the use of his private washroom to freshen myself up a bit. I had not even noticed my appearance in the excitement of being rescued, but now I took stock of myself and discovered that I certainly did look quite dishevelled. My suit was terribly wrinkled and dust, grime and not a few cobwebs stained my clothes. With a sigh, I gratefully accepted his offer to set myself presentable, once again.

Stepping into the washroom, I was rather shocked by the vision I presented to myself in the mirror. My hair was badly tousled and I had telltale streaks on my face where tears had left faint tracks in the dust and grime. I quickly brushed at my hair with my fingers, washed my face and hands and set about dusting myself off. As I brushed at the sleeves of my jacket, I caught sight of something in the mirror that froze my movements and brought back sharply the events of the supposed dream I had experienced during the night. I slowly bent near the mirror to examine myself more closely and finally realized with a surge of happiness that what had happened last night had not been a dream, after all.

I silently sent out my love and thanks to both my dear grandmother and to my lovely dance partner of the night before. I now knew that my 'dream' had been real; that I had actually seen and spoken to my grandmother's spirit, as well as witnessed all of those other apparitions as they danced through the night. For there, on my right shoulder, in the exact spot where my partner had rested her palm while we danced, was the unmistakable, dusty imprint of a small and delicate hand.