“American?” the older man asked as David approached. The voice held a slight tinge of accent, though it was perfect English. David introduced himself.

“Welcome to the Château Frontenac. We are expecting you. I hope you will enjoy your stay. My name is Mr. Poisson. If there is anything I could do to make your stay a more pleasant one, please let me know.” The man waited a moment, bowed slightly, and disappeared through the double doors. How much do you have to shell out for this? David thought, and grinned a little. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be paying for it, and that was fine with him.

He turned to the man behind the desk, who had been waiting patiently, and signed the register.

“Please follow me,” the bellboy said, after they had checked in. “I’ll show you your rooms.”

Rooms?

They crossed the lobby and entered the elevators. In a few seconds the doors opened on the third floor.

“Champlain founded Quebec City in the 1600s,” the bellboy said, “and the Château Frontenac was born out of the womb of his great fortress. In fact, he built on this very cliff. The Frontenac was built in 1892 for one of the greatest of the governors, and has had an extensive and colorful history.”

They followed him down the narrow hallway, their footsteps muffled by the carpet. Jessie kept quiet by her mother’s side, cowed with the respect commanded by such an awesome structure. David himself felt a similar urge to speak in whispers, in order to not offend the ghosts.

“Presidents have stayed here, many times. Kings and queens. Royalty of all sorts.” The bellboy had stopped in front of room 218. “Here we are.” He slipped a key in the lock and swung open the heavy door, and David slipped him a tip. “If you need anything, please, the desk extension is double zero. Mr. Poisson will be glad to help you.” With that, the bellboy was gone.

The rooms were breathtaking. The door opened to a sitting room as elegant as the one downstairs, with old polished chairs and thick carpeting. A door on the left led to a little bath with antique fixtures and tiny tiles, and through a door on the right he could see one of the bedrooms, lit with a soft light. There was another, smaller one next to it, where he could see a single bed with similar coverings.

“Pretty impressive,” he remarked, though “impressive” didn’t seem to do justice to the place.

“Yes.” Helen’s eyes flashed. She had walked over to a small window set into the far wall. “Look at this view.”