that so great a happiness and honour were really intended for me,
my gratitude would be as lasting as my life. But how dare I
believe that Mademoiselle does not speak, rather from her own
sympathy or goodness, than from a certainty that the Countess de
St. Alyre would concede so great an honour?"

"Monsieur believes either that I am not, as I pretend to be, in
the secret which he hitherto supposed to be shared by no one but
the Countess and himself, or else that I am cruelly mystifying
him. That I am in her confidence, I swear by all that is dear in
a whispered farewell. By the last companion of this flower!" and
she took for a moment in her fingers the nodding head of a white
rosebud that was nestled in her bouquet. "By my own good star,
and hers--or shall I call it our '_belle_ étoile?' Have I said
enough?"

"Enough?" I repeated, "more than enough--a thousand thanks."

"And being thus in her confidence, I am clearly her friend; and
being a friend would it be friendly to use her dear name so; and
all for sake of practising a vulgar trick upon you--a stranger?"

"Mademoiselle will forgive me. Remember how very precious is the
hope of seeing, and speaking to the Countess. Is it wonderful,
then, that I should falter in my belief? You have convinced me,
however, and will forgive my hesitation."

"You will be at the place I have described, then, at two
o'clock?"

"Assuredly," I answered.

"And Monsieur, I know, will not fail, through fear. No, he need
not assure me; his courage is already proved."

"No danger, in such a case, will be unwelcome to me."

"Had you not better go now, Monsieur, and rejoin your friend?"

"I promised to wait here for my friend's return. The Count de St.
Alyre said that he intended to introduce me to the Countess."

"And Monsieur is so simple as to believe him?"

"Why should I not?"

"Because he is jealous and cunning. You will see. He will never
introduce you to his wife. He will come here and say he cannot
find her, and promise another time."

"I think I see him approaching, with my friend. No--there is no
lady with him."

"I told you so. You will wait a long time for that happiness, if
it is never to reach you except through his hands. In the
meantime, you had better not let him see you so near me. He will
suspect that we have been talking of his wife; and that will whet
his jealousy and his vigilance."

I thanked my unknown friend in the mask, and withdrawing a few
steps, came, by a little "circumbendibus," upon the flank of the
Count.

I smiled under my mask, as he assured me that the Duchesse de la
Roqueme had changed her place, and taken the Countess with her;
but he hoped, at some very early time, to have an opportunity of
enabling her to make my acquaintance.

I avoided the Marquis d'Harmonville, who was following the Count.
I was afraid he might propose accompanying me home, and had no
wish to be forced to make an explanation.

I lost myself quickly, therefore, in the crowd, and moved, as
rapidly as it would allow me, toward the Galerie des Glaces,
which lay in the direction opposite to that in which I saw the
Count and my friend the Marquis moving.

CHAPTER XV.

STRANGE STORY OF THE DRAGON VOLANT.

These _fêtes_ were earlier in those days, and in France, than our
modern balls are in London. I consulted my watch. It was a little
past twelve.

It was a still and sultry night; the magnificent suite of rooms,
vast as some of them were, could not be kept at a temperature
less than oppressive, especially to people with masks on. In some
places the crowd was inconvenient, and the profusion of lights
added to the heat. I removed my mask, therefore, as I saw some
other people do, who were as careless of mystery as I. I had
hardly done so, and began to breathe more comfortably, when I
heard a friendly English voice call me by my name. It was Tom
Whistlewick, of the --th Dragoons. He had unmasked, with a very
flushed face, as I did. He was one of those Waterloo heroes, new
from the mint of glory, whom, as a body, all the world, except
France, revered; and the only thing I knew against him, was a
habit of allaying his thirst, which was excessive, at balls,
_fêtes_, musical parties, and all gatherings, where it was to be
had, with champagne; and, as he introduced me to his friend,
Monsieur Carmaignac, I observed that he spoke a little thick.
Monsieur Carmaignac was little, lean, and as straight as a
ramrod. He was bald, took snuff, and wore spectacles; and, as I
soon learned, held an official position.

Tom was facetious, sly, and rather difficult to understand, in
his present pleasant mood. He was elevating his eyebrows and
screwing his lips oddly, and fanning himself vaguely with his
mask.

After some agreeable conversation, I was glad to observe that he
preferred silence, and was satisfied with the _rôle_ of listener,
as I and Monsieur Carmaignac chatted; and he seated himself, with
extraordinary caution and indecision, upon a bench, beside us,
and seemed very soon to find a difficulty in keeping his eyes
open.

"I heard you mention," said the French gentleman, "that you had
engaged an apartment in the Dragon Volant, about half a league
from this. When I was in a different police department, about
four years ago, two very strange cases were connected with that
house. One was of a wealthy _émigré_, permitted to return to
France, by the Em--by Napoleon. He vanished. The other--equally
strange--was the case of a Russian of rank and wealth. He
disappeared just as mysteriously."

"My servant," I said, "gave me a confused account of some
occurrences, and, as well as I recollect he described the same
persons--I mean a returned French nobleman, and a Russian
gentleman. But he made the whole story so marvellous--I mean in
the supernatural sense--that, I confess, I did not believe a word
of it."

"No, there was nothing supernatural; but a great deal
inexplicable," said the French gentleman. "Of course there may be
theories; but the thing was never explained, nor, so far as I
know, was a ray of light ever thrown upon it."

"Pray let me hear the story," I said. "I think I have a claim, as
it affects my quarters. You don't suspect the people of the
house?"

"Oh! it has changed hands since then. But there seemed to be a
fatality about a particular room."

"Could you describe that room?"

"Certainly. It is a spacious, panelled bed-room, up one pair of
stairs, in the back of the house, and at the extreme right, as
you look from its windows."

"Ho! Really? Why, then, I have got the very room!" I said,
beginning to be more interested--perhaps the least bit in the
world, disagreeably. "Did the people die, or were they actually
spirited away?"

"No, they did not die--they disappeared very oddly. I'll tell you
the particulars--I happen to know them exactly, because I made an
official visit, on the first occasion, to the house, to collect
evidence; and although I did not go down there, upon the second,
the papers came before me, and I dictated the official letter
despatched to the relations of the people who had disappeared;
they had applied to the government to investigate, the affair. We
had letters from the same relations more than two years later,
from which we learned that the missing men had never turned up."

He took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at me.

"Never! I shall relate all that happened, so far as we could
discover. The French noble, who was the Chevalier Chateau
Blassemare, unlike most _émigrés_, had taken the matter in time,
sold a large portion of his property before the revolution had
proceeded so far as to render that next to impossible, and
retired with a large sum. He brought with him about half a
million of francs, the greater part of which he invested in the
French funds; a much larger sum remained in Austrian land and
securities. You will observe then that this gentleman was rich,
and there was no allegation of his having lost money, or being,
in any way, embarrassed. You see?"

I assented.

"This gentleman's habits were not expensive in proportion to his
means. He had suitable lodgings in Paris; and for a time,
society, the theatres, and other reasonable amusements, engrossed
him. He did not play. He was a middle-aged man, affecting youth,
with the vanities which are usual in such persons; but, for the
rest, he was a gentle and polite person, who disturbed nobody--a
person, you see, not likely to provoke an enmity."

"Certainly not," I agreed.

"Early in the summer of 1811, he got an order permitting him to
copy a picture in one of these _salons_, and came down here, to
Versailles, for the purpose. His work was getting on slowly.
After a time he left his hotel, here, and went, by way of
change, to the Dragon Volant: there he took, by special choice,
the bed-room which has fallen to you by chance. From this time,
it appeared, he painted little; and seldom visited his apartments
in Paris. One night he saw the host of the Dragon Volant, and
told him that he was going into Paris, to remain for a day or
two, on very particular business; that his servant would
accompany him, but that he would retain his apartments at the
Dragon Volant, and return in a few days. He left some clothes
there, but packed a portmanteau, took his dressing-case, and the
rest, and, with his servant behind his carriage, drove into
Paris. You observe all this, Monsieur?"

"Most attentively," I answered.

"Well, Monsieur, as soon as they were approaching his lodgings,
he stopped the carriage on a sudden, told his servant that he had
changed his mind; that he would sleep elsewhere that night, that
he had very particular business in the north of France, not far
from Rouen, that he would set out before daylight on his journey,
and return in a fortnight. He called a _fiacre_, took in his hand
a leather bag which, the servant said, was just large enough to
hold a few shirts and a coat, but that it was enormously heavy,
as he could testify, for he held it in his hand, while his master
took out his purse to count thirty-six Napoleons, for which the
servant was to account when he should return. He then sent him
on, in the carriage; and he, with the bag I have mentioned, got
into the _fiacre_. Up to that, you see, the narrative is quite
clear."

"Perfectly," I agreed.

"Now comes the mystery," said Monsieur Carmaignac. "After that,
the Count Chateau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we
can make out, by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day
before the Count's stockbroker had, by his direction, sold all
his stock in the French funds, and handed him the cash it
realized. The reason he gave him for this measure tallied with
what he said to his servant. He told him that he was going to the
north of France to settle some claims, and did not know exactly
how much might be required. The bag, which had puzzled the
servant by its weight, contained, no doubt, a large sum in gold.
Will Monsieur try my snuff?"

He politely tendered his open snuff-box, of which I partook,
experimentally.

"A reward was offered," he continued, "when the inquiry was instituted,
for any information tending to throw a light upon the mystery, which
might be afforded by the driver of the _fiacre_ 'employed on the night
of' (so-and-so), 'at about the hour of half-past ten, by a gentleman,
with a black-leather travelling-bag in his hand, who descended from a
private carriage, and gave his servant some money, which he counted
twice over.' About a hundred-and-fifty drivers applied, but not one of
them was the right man. We did, however, elicit a curious and unexpected
piece of evidence in quite another quarter. What a racket that plaguey
harlequin makes with his sword!"

"Intolerable!" I chimed in.

The harlequin was soon gone, and he resumed.

"The evidence I speak of, came from a boy, about twelve years
old, who knew the appearance of the Count perfectly, having been
often employed by him as a messenger. He stated that about
half-past twelve o'clock, on the same night--upon which you are
to observe, there was a brilliant moon--he was sent, his mother
having been suddenly taken ill, for the _sage femme_ who lived
within a stone's throw of the Dragon Volant. His father's house,
from which he started, was a mile away, or more, from that inn,
in order to reach which he had to pass round the park of the
Château de la Carque, at the site most remote from the point to
which he was going. It passes the old churchyard of St. Aubin,
which is separated from the road only by a very low fence, and
two or three enormous old trees. The boy was a little nervous as
he approached this ancient cemetery; and, under the bright
moonlight, he saw a man whom he distinctly recognised as the
Count, whom they designated by a soubriquet which means 'the man
of smiles.' He was looking rueful enough now, and was seated on
the side of a tombstone, on which he had laid a pistol, while he
was ramming home the charge of another.

"The boy got cautiously by, on tip-toe, with his eyes all the
time on the Count Chateau Blassemare, or the man he mistook for
him; his dress was not what he usually wore, but the witness
swore that he could not be mistaken as to his identity. He said
his face looked grave and stern; but though he did not smile, it
was the same face he knew so well. Nothing would make him swerve
from that. If that were he, it was the last time he was seen. He
has never been heard of since. Nothing could be heard of him in
the neighbourhood of Rouen. There has been no evidence of his
death; and there is no sign that he is living."

"That certainly is a most singular case," I replied; and was
about to ask a question or two, when Tom Whistlewick who, without
my observing it, had been taking a ramble, returned, a great deal
more awake, and a great deal less tipsy.

"I say, Carmaignac, it is getting late, and I must go; I really
must, for the reason I told you--and, Beckett, we must soon meet
again."

"I regret very much, Monsieur, my not being able at present to
relate to you the other case, that of another tenant of the very
same room--a case more mysterious and sinister than the last--and
which occurred in the autumn of the same year."

"Will you both do a very good-natured thing, and come and dine
with me at the Dragon Volant to-morrow?"

So, as we pursued our way along the Galerie des Glaces, I
extracted their promise.

"By Jove!" said Whistlewick, when this was done; "look at that
pagoda, or sedan chair, or whatever it is, just where those
fellows set it down, and not one of them near it! I can't imagine
how they tell fortunes so devilish well. Jack Nuffles--I met him
here to-night--says they are gipsies--where are they, I wonder?
I'll go over and have a peep at the prophet."

I saw him plucking at the blinds, which were constructed
something on the principle of Venetian blinds; the red curtains
were inside; but they did not yield, and he could only peep under
one that did not come quite down.

When he rejoined us, he related: "I could scarcely see the old
fellow, it's so dark. He is covered with gold and red, and has an
embroidered hat on like a mandarin's; he's fast asleep; and, by
Jove, he smells like a pole-cat! It's worth going over only to
have it to say. Fiew! pooh! oh! It _is_ a perfume. Faugh!"

Not caring to accept this tempting invitation, we got along
slowly toward the door. I bid them good-night, reminding them of
their promise. And so found my way at last to my carriage; and
was soon rolling slowly toward the Dragon Volant, on the
loneliest of roads, under old trees, and the soft moonlight.

What a number of things had happened within the last two hours!
what a variety of strange and vivid pictures were crowded
together in that brief space! What an adventure was before me!

The silent, moonlighted, solitary road, how it contrasted with
the many-eddied whirl of pleasure from whose roar and music,
lights, diamonds and colours, I had just extricated myself.

The sight of lonely Nature at such an hour, acts like a sudden
sedative. The madness and guilt of my pursuit struck me with a
momentary compunction and horror. I wished I had never entered
the labyrinth which was leading me, I knew not whither. It was
too late to think of that now; but the bitter was already
stealing into my cup; and vague anticipations lay, for a few
minutes, heavy on my heart. It would not have taken much to make
me disclose my unmanly state of mind to my lively friend, Alfred
Ogle, nor even to the milder ridicule of the agreeable Tom
Whistlewick.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PARC OF THE CHATEAU DE LA CARQUE.

There was no danger of the Dragon Volant's closing its doors on
that occasion till three or four in the morning. There were
quartered there many servants of great people, whose masters
would not leave the ball till the last moment, and who could not
return to their corners in the Dragon Volant, till their last
services had been rendered.

I knew, therefore, I should have ample time for my mysterious
excursion without exciting curiosity by being shut out.

And now we pulled up under the canopy of boughs, before the sign
of the Dragon Volant, and the light that shone from its
hall-door.

I dismissed my carriage, ran up the broad staircase, mask in
hand, with my domino fluttering about me, and entered the large
bed-room. The black wainscoting and stately furniture, with the
dark curtains of the very tall bed, made the night there more
sombre.

An oblique patch of moonlight was thrown upon the floor from the
window to which I hastened. I looked out upon the landscape
slumbering in those silvery beams. There stood the outline of the
Château de la Carque, its chimneys, and many turrets with their
extinguisher-shaped roofs black against the soft grey sky. There,
also, more in the foreground, about midway between the window
where I stood, and the château, but a little to the left, I
traced the tufted masses of the grove which the lady in the mask
had appointed as the trysting-place, where I and the beautiful
Countess were to meet that night.

I took "the bearings" of this gloomy bit of wood, whose foliage
glimmered softly at top in the light of the moon.

You may guess with what a strange interest and swelling of the
heart I gazed on the unknown scene of my coming adventure.

But time was flying, and the hour already near. I threw my robe
upon a sofa; I groped out a pair of boots, which I substituted
for those thin heelless shoes, in those days called "pumps,"
without which a gentleman could not attend an evening party. I
put on my hat, and lastly, I took a pair of loaded pistols which
I had been advised were satisfactory companions in the then
unsettled state of French society: swarms of disbanded soldiers,
some of them alleged to be desperate characters, being everywhere
to be met with. These preparations made, I confess I took a
looking-glass to the window to see how I looked in the moonlight;
and being satisfied, I replaced it, and ran downstairs.

In the hall I called for my servant.

"St. Clair," said I; "I mean to take a little moonlight ramble,
only ten minutes or so. You must not go to bed until I return. If
the night is very beautiful, I may possibly extend my ramble a
little."

So down the steps I lounged, looking first over my right, and
then over my left shoulder, like a man uncertain which direction
to take, and I sauntered up the road, gazing now at the moon, and
now at the thin white clouds in the opposite direction,
whistling, all the time, an air which I had picked up at one of
the theatres.

When I had got a couple of hundred yards away from the Dragon
Volant, my minstrelsy totally ceased; and I turned about, and
glanced sharply down the road that looked as white as hoar-frost
under the moon, and saw the gable of the old inn, and a window,
partly concealed by the foliage, with a dusky light shining from
it.

No sound of footstep was stirring; no sign of human figure in
sight. I consulted my watch, which the light was sufficiently
strong to enable me to do. It now wanted but eight minutes of the
appointed hour. A thick mantle of ivy at this point covered the
wall and rose in a clustering head at top.

It afforded me facilities for scaling the wall, and a partial
screen for my operations, if any eye should chance to be looking
that way. And now it was done. I was in the park of the Château
de la Carque, as nefarious a poacher as ever trespassed on the
grounds of unsuspicious lord!

Before me rose the appointed grove, which looked as black as a
clump of gigantic hearse-plumes. It seemed to tower higher and
higher at every step; and cast a broader and blacker shadow
toward my feet. On I marched, and was glad when I plunged into
the shadow which concealed me. Now I was among the grand old lime
and chestnut trees--my heart beat fast with expectation.

This grove opened, a little, near the middle; and in the space
thus cleared, there stood with a surrounding flight of steps, a
small Greek temple or shrine, with a statue in the centre. It was
built of white marble with fluted Corinthian columns, and the
crevices were tufted with grass; moss had shown itself on
pedestal and cornice, and signs of long neglect and decay were
apparent in its discoloured and weather-worn marble. A few feet
in front of the steps a fountain, fed from the great ponds at the
other side of the château, was making a constant tinkle and
plashing in a wide marble basin, and the jet of water glimmered
like a shower of diamonds in the broken moonlight. The very
neglect and half-ruinous state of all this made it only the
prettier, as well as sadder. I was too intently watching for the
arrival of the lady, in the direction of the château, to study
these things; but the half-noted effect of them was romantic, and
suggested somehow the grotto and the fountain, and the apparition
of Egeria.

As I watched a voice spoke to me, a little behind my left
shoulder. I turned, almost with a start, and the masque, in the
costume of Mademoiselle de la Vallière stood there.

"The Countess will be here presently," she said. The lady stood
upon the open space, and the moonlight fell unbroken upon her.
Nothing could be more becoming; her figure looked more graceful
and elegant than ever. "In the meantime I shall tell you some
peculiarities of her situation. She is unhappy; miserable in an
ill-assorted marriage, with a jealous tyrant who now would
constrain her to sell her diamonds, which are--"

"Worth thirty thousand pounds sterling. I heard all that from a
friend. Can I aid the Countess in her unequal struggle? Say but
how, and the greater the danger or the sacrifice, the happier
will it make me. _Can_ I aid her?"

"If you despise a danger--which, yet, is not a danger; if you
despise, as she does, the tyrannical canons of the world; and, if
you are chivalrous enough to devote yourself to a lady's cause,
with no reward but her poor gratitude; if you can do these things
you can aid her, and earn a foremost place, not in her gratitude
only, but in her friendship."

At those words the lady in the mask turned away, and seemed to
weep.

I vowed myself the willing slave of the Countess. "But," I added,
"you told me she would soon be here."

"That is, if nothing unforeseen should happen; but with the eye
of the Count de St. Alyre in the house, and open, it is seldom
safe to stir."

"Does she wish to see me?" I asked, with a tender hesitation.

"First, say have you really thought of _her_, more than once,
since the adventure of the Belle Etoile."

"She never leaves my thoughts; day and night her beautiful eyes
haunt me; her sweet voice is always in my ear."

"Mine is said to resemble hers," said the mask.

"So it does," I answered. "But it is only a resemblance."

"Oh! then mine is better?"

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle, I did not say _that_. Yours is a sweet
voice, but I fancy a little higher."

"A little shriller, you would say," answered the De la Vallière,
I fancied a good deal vexed.

"No, not shriller: your voice is not shrill, it is beautifully
sweet; but not so pathetically sweet as her."

"That is prejudice, Monsieur; it is not true."

I bowed; I could not contradict a lady.

"I see, Monsieur, you laugh at me; you think me vain, because I
claim in some points to be equal to the Countess de St. Alyre. I
challenge you to say, my hand, at least, is less beautiful than
hers." As she thus spoke, she drew her glove off, and extended
her hand, back upward, in the moonlight.

The lady seemed really nettled. It was undignified and
irritating; for in this uninteresting competition the precious
moments were flying, and my interview leading apparently to
nothing.

"You will admit, then, that my hand is as beautiful as hers?"

"I cannot admit it, Mademoiselle," said I, with the honesty of
irritation. "I will not enter into comparisons, but the Countess
de St. Alyre is, in all respects, the most beautiful lady I ever
beheld."

The masque laughed coldly, and then, more and more softly, said,
with a sigh, "I will prove all I say." And as she spoke she
removed the mask: and the Countess de St. Alyre, smiling,
confused, bashful, more beautiful than ever, stood before me!

"Good Heavens!" I exclaimed. "How monstrously stupid I have been.
And it was to Madame la Comtesse that I spoke for so long in the
_salon_!" I gazed on her in silence. And with a low sweet laugh
of goodnature she extended her hand. I took it, and carried it to
my lips.

"No, you must not do that," she said, quietly, "we are not old
enough friends yet. I find, although you were mistaken, that you
do remember the Countess of the Belle Etoile, and that you are a
champion true and fearless. Had you yielded to the claims just
now pressed upon you by the rivalry of Mademoiselle de la
Vallière, in her mask, the Countess de St. Alyre should never
have trusted or seen you more. I now am sure that you are true,
as well as brave. You now know that I have not forgotten you;
and, also, that if you would risk your life for me, I, too, would
brave some danger, rather than lose my friend for ever. I have
but a few moments more. Will you come here again to-morrow night,
at a quarter past eleven? I will be here at that moment; you must
exercise the most scrupulous care to prevent suspicion that you
have come here, Monsieur. _You owe that to me._"

She spoke these last words with the most solemn entreaty.

I vowed again and again, that I would die rather than permit the
least rashness to endanger the secret which made all the interest
and value of my life.

She was looking, I thought, more and more beautiful every moment.
My enthusiasm expanded in proportion.

"You must come to-morrow night by a different route," she said;
"and if you come again, we can change it once more. At the other
side of the château there is a little churchyard, with a ruined
chapel. The neighbours are afraid to pass it by night. The road
is deserted there, and a stile opens a way into these grounds.
Cross it and you can find a covert of thickets, to within fifty
steps of this spot."

I promised, of course, to observe her instructions implicitly.

"I have lived for more than a year in an agony of irresolution. I
have decided at last. I have lived a melancholy life; a lonelier
life than is passed in the cloister. I have had no one to confide
in; no one to advise me; no one to save me from the horrors of my
existence. I have found a brave and prompt friend at last. Shall
I ever forget the heroic tableau of the hall of the Belle Etoile?
Have you--have you really kept the rose I gave you, as we parted?
Yes--you swear it. You need not; I trust you. Richard, how often
have I in solitude repeated your name, learned from my servant.
Richard, my hero! Oh! Richard! Oh, my king! I love you."

I would have folded her to my heart--thrown myself at her feet.
But this beautiful and--shall I say it--inconsistent woman
repelled me.

"No, we must not waste our moments in extravagances. Understand
my case. There is no such thing as indifference in the married
state. Not to love one's husband," she continued, "is to hate
him. The Count, ridiculous in all else, is formidable in his
jealousy. In mercy, then, to me, observe caution. Affect to all
you speak to, the most complete ignorance of all the people in
the Château de la Carque; and, if any one in your presence
mentions the Count or Countess de St. Alyre, be sure you say you
never saw either. I shall have more to say to you to-morrow
night. I have reasons that I cannot now explain, for all I do,
and all I postpone. Farewell. Go! Leave me."

She waved me back, peremptorily. I echoed her "farewell," and
obeyed.

This interview had not lasted, I think, more than ten minutes. I
scaled the park-wall again, and reached the Dragon Volant before
its doors were closed.

I lay awake in my bed, in a fever of elation. I saw, till the
dawn broke, and chased the vision, the beautiful Countess de St.
Alyre, always in the dark, before me.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE TENANT OF THE PALANQUIN.

The Marquis called on me next day. My late breakfast was still
upon the table.

He had come, he said, to ask a favour. An accident had happened
to his carriage in the crowd on leaving the ball, and he begged,
if I were going into Paris, a seat in mine--I was going in, and
was extremely glad of his company. He came with me to my hotel;
we went up to my rooms. I was surprised to see a man seated in an
easy chair, with his back towards us, reading a newspaper. He
rose. It was the Count de St. Alyre, his gold spectacles on his
nose; his black wig, in oily curls, lying close to his narrow
head, and showing, like carved ebony over a repulsive visage of
boxwood. His black muffler had been pulled down. His right arm
was in a sling. I don't know whether there was anything unusual
in his countenance that day, or whether it was but the effect of
prejudice arising from all I had heard in my mysterious interview
in his park, but I thought his countenance was more strikingly
forbidding than I had seen it before.

I was not callous enough in the ways of sin to meet this man,
injured at least in intent, thus suddenly, without a momentary
disturbance.

He smiled.

"I called, Monsieur Beckett, in the hope of finding you here,"
he croaked, "and I meditated, I fear, taking a great liberty, but
my friend the Marquis d'Harmonville, on whom I have perhaps some
claim, will perhaps give me the assistance I require so much."

"With great pleasure," said the Marquis, "but not till after six
o'clock. I must go this moment to a meeting of three or four
people, whom I cannot disappoint, and I know, perfectly, we
cannot break up earlier."

"What am I to do?" exclaimed the Count, "an hour would have done
it all. Was ever _contre-temps_ so unlucky!"

"I'll give you an hour, with pleasure," said I.

"How very good of you, Monsieur, I hardly dare to hope it. The
business, for so gay and charming a man as Monsieur Beckett, is a
little _funeste_. Pray read this note which reached me this
morning."

It certainly was not cheerful. It was a note stating that the
body of his, the Count's cousin, Monsieur de St. Amand, who had
died at his house, the Château Clery, had been, in accordance
with his written directions, sent for burial at Père La Chaise,
and, with the permission of the Count de St. Alyre, would reach
his house (the Château de la Carque), at about ten o'clock on the
night following, to be conveyed thence in a hearse, with any
member of the family who might wish to attend the obsequies.

"I did not see the poor gentleman twice in my life," said the
Count, "but this office, as he has no other kinsman, disagreeable
as it is, I could scarcely decline, and so I want to attend at
the office to have the book signed, and the order entered. But
here is another misery. By ill luck, I have sprained my thumb,
and can't sign my name for a week to come. However, one name
answers as well as another. Yours as well as mine. And as you
are so good as to come with me, all will go right."

Away, we drove. The Count gave me a memorandum of the christian
and surnames of the deceased, his age, the complaint he died of,
and the usual particulars; also a note of the exact position in
which a grave, the dimensions of which were described, of the
ordinary simple kind, was to be dug, between two vaults belonging
to the family of St. Amand. The funeral, it was stated, would
arrive at half-past one o'clock A.M. (the next night but one);
and he handed me the money, with extra fees, for a burial by
night. It was a good deal; and I asked him, as he entrusted the
whole affair to me, in whose name I should take the receipt.

"Not in mine, my good friend. They wanted me to become an
executor, which I, yesterday, wrote to decline; and I am informed
that if the receipt were in my name it would constitute me an
executor in the eye of the law, and fix me in that position. Take
it, pray, if you have no objection, in your own name."

This, accordingly, I did.

"You will see, by-and-by, why I am obliged to mention all these
particulars."

The Count, meanwhile, was leaning back in the carriage, with his
black silk muffler up to his nose, and his hat shading his eyes,
while he dozed in his corner; in which state I found him on my
return.

Paris had lost its charm for me. I hurried through the little
business I had to do, longed once more for my quiet room in the
Dragon Volant, the melancholy woods of the Château de la Carque,
and the tumultuous and thrilling influence of proximity to the
object of my wild but wicked romance.

I was delayed some time by my stockbroker. I had a very large
sum, as I told you, at my banker's, uninvested. I cared very
little for a few days' interest--very little for the entire sum,
compared with the image that occupied my thoughts, and beckoned
me with a white arm, through the dark, toward the spreading
lime-trees and chestnuts of the Château de la Carque. But I had
fixed this day to meet him, and was relieved when he told me that
I had better let it lie in my banker's hands for a few days
longer, as the funds would certainly fall immediately. This
accident, too, was not without its immediate bearing on my
subsequent adventures.

When I reached the Dragon Volant, I found, in my sitting-room, a
good deal to my chagrin, my two guests, whom I had quite
forgotten. I inwardly cursed my own stupidity for having
embarrassed myself with their agreeable society. It could not be
helped now, however, and a word to the waiters put all things in
train for dinner.

Tom Whistlewick was in great force; and he commenced almost
immediately with a very odd story.

He told me that not only Versailles, but all Paris, was in a
ferment, in consequence of a revolting, and all but sacrilegious,
practical joke, played off on the night before.

The pagoda, as he persisted in calling the palanquin, had been
left standing on the spot where we last saw it. Neither conjuror,
nor usher, nor bearers had ever returned. When the ball closed,
and the company at length retired, the servants who attended to
put out the lights, and secure the doors, found it still there.

It was determined, however, to let it stand where it was until
next morning, by which time, it was conjectured, its owners would
send messengers to remove it.

None arrived. The servants were then ordered to take it away; and
its extraordinary weight, for the first time, reminded them of
its forgotten human occupant. Its door was forced; and, judge
what was their disgust, when they discovered, not a living man,
but a corpse! Three or four days must have passed since the death
of the burly man in the Chinese tunic and painted cap. Some
people thought it was a trick designed to insult the Allies, in
whose honour the ball was got up. Others were of opinion that it
was nothing worse than a daring and cynical jocularity which,
shocking as it was, might yet be forgiven to the high spirits and
irrepressible buffoonery of youth. Others, again, fewer in
number, and mystically given, insisted that the corpse was _bonâ
fide_ necessary to the exhibition, and that the disclosures and
allusions which had astonished so many people were distinctly due
to necromancy.

"The matter, however, is now in the hands of the police,"
observed Monsieur Carmaignac, "and we are not the body they were
two or three months ago, if the offenders against propriety and
public feeling are not traced, and convicted, unless, indeed,
they have been a great deal more cunning than such fools
generally are."

I was thinking within myself how utterly inexplicable was my
colloquy with the conjuror, so cavalierly dismissed by Monsieur
Carmaignac as a "fool;" and the more I thought the more
marvellous it seemed.

"It certainly was an original joke, though not a very clear one,"
said Whistlewick.

"Not even original," said Carmaignac. "Very nearly the same thing
was done, a hundred years ago or more, at a state ball in Paris;
and the rascals who played the trick were never found out."

In this Monsieur Carmaignac, as I afterwards discovered, spoke
truly; for, among my books of French anecdote and memoirs, the
very incident is marked, by my own hand.

While we were thus talking, the waiter told us that dinner was
served; and we withdrew accordingly; my guests more than making
amends for my comparative taciturnity.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CHURCH-YARD.

Our dinner was really good, so were the wines; better, perhaps,
at this out-of-the-way inn, than at some of the more pretentious
hotels in Paris. The moral effect of a really good dinner is
immense--we all felt it. The serenity and goodnature that follow
are more solid and comfortable than the tumultuous benevolences
of Bacchus.

My friends were happy, therefore, and very chatty; which latter
relieved me of the trouble of talking, and prompted them to
entertain me and one another incessantly with agreeable stories
and conversation, of which, until suddenly a subject emerged,
which interested me powerfully, I confess, so much were my
thoughts engaged elsewhere, I heard next to nothing.

"Yes," said Carmaignac, continuing a conversation which had
escaped me, "there was another case, beside that Russian
nobleman, odder still. I remembered it this morning, but cannot
recall the name. He was a tenant of the very same room.
By-the-by, Monsieur, might it not be as well," he added, turning
to me, with a laugh, half joke whole earnest, as they say, "if
you were to get into another apartment, now that the house is no
longer crowded? that is, if you mean to make any stay here."

"A thousand thanks! no. I'm thinking of changing my hotel; and I
can run into town so easily at night; and though I stay here,
for this night, at least, I don't expect to vanish like those
others. But you say there is another adventure, of the same kind,
connected with the same room. Do let us hear it. But take some
wine first."

The story he told was curious.

"It happened," said Carmaignac, "as well as I recollect, before
either of the other cases. A French gentleman--I wish I could
remember his name--the son of a merchant, came to this inn (the
Dragon Volant), and was put by the landlord into the same room of
which we have been speaking. _Your_ apartment, Monsieur. He was
by no means young--past forty--and very far from good-looking.
The people here said that he was the ugliest man, and the most
good-natured, that ever lived. He played on the fiddle, sang, and
wrote poetry. His habits were odd and desultory. He would
sometimes sit all day in his room writing, singing, and
fiddling, and go out at night for a walk. An eccentric man! He
was by no means a millionaire, but he had a _modicum bonum_ you
understand--a trifle more than half a million of francs. He
consulted his stockbroker about investing this money in foreign
stocks, and drew the entire sum from his banker. You now have the
situation of affairs when the catastrophe occurred."

"Pray fill your glass," I said.

"Dutch courage, Monsieur, to face the catastrophe!" said
Whistlewick, filling his own.

"Now, that was the last that ever was heard of his money,"
resumed Carmaignac. "You shall hear about himself. The night
after this financial operation, he was seized with a poetic
frenzy; he sent for the then landlord of this house, and told him
that he long meditated an epic, and meant to commence that
night, and that he was on no account to be disturbed until nine
o'clock in the morning. He had two pairs of wax candles, a little
cold supper on a side-table, his desk open, paper enough upon it
to contain the entire Henriade, and a proportionate store of pens
and ink.

"Seated at this desk he was seen by the waiter who brought him a
cup of coffee at nine o'clock, at which time the intruder said he
was writing fast enough to set fire to the paper--that was his
phrase; he did not look up, he appeared too much engrossed. But,
when the waiter came back, half an hour afterwards, the door was
locked; and the poet, from within, answered, that he must not be
disturbed.

"Away went the _garçon_; and next morning at nine o'clock knocked
at his door, and receiving no answer, looked through the
key-hole; the lights were still burning, the window-shutters
were closed as he had left them; he renewed his knocking, knocked
louder, no answer came. He reported this continued and alarming
silence to the inn-keeper, who, finding that his guest had not
left his key in the lock, succeeded in finding another that
opened it. The candles were just giving up the ghost in their
sockets, but there was light enough to ascertain that the tenant
of the room was gone! The bed had not been disturbed; the
window-shutter was barred. He must have let himself out, and,
locking the door on the outside, put the key in his pocket, and
so made his way out of the house. Here, however, was another
difficulty, the Dragon Volant shut its doors and made all fast at
twelve o'clock; after that hour no one could leave the house,
except by obtaining the key and letting himself out, and of
necessity leaving the door unsecured, or else by collusion and
aid of some person in the house.

"Now it happened that, some time after the doors were secured, at
half-past twelve, a servant who had not been apprized of his
order to be left undisturbed, seeing a light shine through the
key-hole, knocked at the door to inquire whether the poet wanted
anything. He was very little obliged to his disturber, and
dismissed him with a renewed charge that he was not to be
interrupted again during the night. This incident established the
fact that he was in the house after the doors had been locked and
barred. The inn-keeper himself kept the keys, and swore that he
found them hung on the wall above his head, in his bed, in their
usual place, in the morning; and that nobody could have taken
them away without awakening him. That was all we could discover.
The Count de St. Alyre, to whom this house belongs, was very
active and very much chagrined. But nothing was discovered."

"And nothing heard since of the epic poet?" I asked.

"Nothing--not the slightest clue--he never turned up again. I
suppose he is dead; if he is not, he must have got into some
devilish bad scrape, of which we have heard nothing, that
compelled him to abscond with all the secresy and expedition in
his power. All that we know for certain is that, having occupied
the room in which you sleep, he vanished, nobody ever knew how,
and never was heard of since."

"You have now mentioned three cases," I said, "and all from the
same room."

"Three. Yes, all equally unintelligible. When men are murdered,
the great and immediate difficulty the assassins encounter is how
to conceal the body. It is very hard to believe that three
persons should have been consecutively murdered, in the same
room, and their bodies so effectually disposed of that no trace
of them was ever discovered."

From this we passed to other topics, and the grave Monsieur
Carmaignac amused us with a perfectly prodigious collection of
scandalous anecdote, which his opportunities in the police
department had enabled him to accumulate.

My guests happily had engagements in Paris, and left me about
ten.

I went up to my room, and looked out upon the grounds of the
Château de la Carque. The moonlight was broken by clouds, and the
view of the park in this desultory light, acquired a melancholy
and fantastic character.

The strange anecdotes recounted of the room in which I stood, by
Monsieur Carmaignac, returned vaguely upon my mind, drowning in
sudden shadows the gaiety of the more frivolous stories with
which he had followed them. I looked round me on the room that
lay in ominous gloom, with an almost disagreeable sensation. I
took my pistols now with an undefined apprehension that they
might be really needed before my return to-night. This feeling,
be it understood, in nowise chilled my ardour. Never had my
enthusiasm mounted higher. My adventure absorbed and carried me
away; but it added a strange and stern excitement to the
expedition.

I loitered for a time in my room. I had ascertained the exact
point at which the little churchyard lay. It was about a mile
away; I did not wish to reach it earlier than necessary.

I stole quietly out, and sauntered along the road to my left, and
thence entered a narrower track, still to my left, which,
skirting the park wall, and describing a circuitous route, all
the way, under grand old trees, passes the ancient cemetery. That
cemetery is embowered in trees, and occupies little more than
half an acre of ground, to the left of the road, interposing
between it and the park of the Château de la Carque.

Here, at this haunted spot, I paused and listened. The place was
utterly silent. A thick cloud had darkened the moon, so that I
could distinguish little more than the outlines of near objects,
and that vaguely enough; and sometimes, as it were, floating in
black fog, the white surface of a tombstone emerged.

Among the forms that met my eye against the iron-grey of the
horizon, were some of those shrubs or trees that grow like our
junipers, some six feet high, in form like a miniature poplar,
with the darker foliage of the yew. I do not know the name of
the plant, but I have often seen it in such funereal places.

Knowing that I was a little too early, I sat down upon the edge
of a tombstone to wait, as, for aught I knew, the beautiful
Countess might have wise reasons for not caring that I should
enter the grounds of the château earlier than she had appointed.
In the listless state induced by waiting, I sat there, with my
eyes on the object straight before me, which chanced to be that
faint black outline I have described. It was right before me,
about half-a-dozen steps away.

The moon now began to escape from under the skirt of the cloud
that had hid her face for so long; and, as the light gradually
improved, the tree on which I had been lazily staring began to
take a new shape. It was no longer a tree, but a man standing
motionless. Brighter and brighter grew the moonlight, clearer
and clearer the image became, and at last stood out perfectly
distinctly. It was Colonel Gaillarde.

Luckily, he was not looking toward me. I could only see him in
profile; but there was no mistaking the white moustache, the
_farouche_ visage, and the gaunt six-foot stature. There he was,
his shoulder toward me, listening and watching, plainly, for some
signal or person expected, straight in front of him.

If he were, by chance, to turn his eyes in my direction, I knew
that I must reckon upon an instantaneous renewal of the combat
only commenced in the hall of the Belle Etoile. In any case,
could malignant fortune have posted, at this place and hour, a
more dangerous watcher? What ecstasy to him, by a single
discovery, to hit me so hard, and blast the Countess de St.
Alyre, whom he seemed to hate.

He raised his arm; he whistled softly; I heard an answering
whistle as low; and, to my relief, the Colonel advanced in the
direction of this sound, widening the distance between us at
every step; and immediately I heard talking, but in a low and
cautious key.

I recognized, I thought, even so, the peculiar voice of
Gaillarde.

I stole softly forward in the direction in which those sounds
were audible. In doing so, I had, of course, to use the extremest
caution.

I thought I saw a hat above a jagged piece of ruined wall, and
then a second--yes, I saw two hats conversing; the voices came
from under them. They moved off, not in the direction of the
park, but of the road, and I lay along the grass, peeping over a
grave, as a skirmisher might, observing the enemy. One after the
other, the figures emerged full into view as they mounted the
stile at the road-side. The Colonel, who was last, stood on the
wall for awhile, looking about him, and then jumped down on the
road. I heard their steps and talk as they moved away together,
with their backs toward me, in the direction which led them
farther and farther from the Dragon Volant.

I waited until these sounds were quite lost in distance before I
entered the park. I followed the instructions I had received from
the Countess de St. Alyre, and made my way among brushwood and
thickets to the point nearest the ruinous temple, and crossed the
short intervening space of open ground rapidly.

I was now once more under the gigantic boughs of the old lime and
chestnut trees; softly, and with a heart throbbing fast, I
approached the little structure.

The moon was now shining steadily, pouring down its radiance on
the soft foliage, and here and there mottling the verdure under
my feet.

I reached the steps; I was among its worn marble shafts. She was
not there, nor in the inner sanctuary, the arched windows of
which were screened almost entirely by masses of ivy. The lady
had not yet arrived.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE KEY.

I stood now upon the steps, watching and listening. In a minute
or two I heard the crackle of withered sticks trod upon, and,
looking in the direction, I saw a figure approaching among the
trees, wrapped in a mantle.

I advanced eagerly. It was the Countess. She did not speak, but
gave me her hand, and I led her to the scene of our last
interview. She repressed the ardour of my impassioned greeting
with a gentle but peremptory firmness. She removed her hood,
shook back her beautiful hair, and, gazing on me with sad and
glowing eyes, sighed deeply. Some awful thought seemed to weigh
upon her.

"Richard, I must speak plainly. The crisis of my life has come. I
am sure you would defend me. I think you pity me; perhaps you
even love me."

At these words I became eloquent, as young madmen in my plight
do. She silenced me, however, with the same melancholy firmness.

"Listen, dear friend, and then say whether you can aid me. How
madly I am trusting you; and yet my heart tells me how wisely! To
meet you here as I do--what insanity it seems! How poorly you
must think of me! But when you know all, you will judge me
fairly. Without your aid I cannot accomplish my purpose. That
purpose unaccomplished, I must die. I am chained to a man whom I
despise--whom I abhor. I have resolved to fly. I have jewels,
principally diamonds, for which I am offered thirty thousand
pounds of your English money. They are my separate property by my
marriage settlement; I will take them with me. You are a judge,
no doubt, of jewels. I was counting mine when the hour came, and
brought this in my hand to show you. Look."

"It is magnificent!" I exclaimed, as a collar of diamonds
twinkled and flashed in the moonlight, suspended from her pretty
fingers. I thought, even at that tragic moment, that she
prolonged the show, with a feminine delight in these brilliant
toys.

"Yes," she said, "I shall part with them all. I will turn them
into money, and break, for ever, the unnatural and wicked bonds
that tied me, in the name of a sacrament, to a tyrant. A man
young, handsome, generous, brave as you, can hardly be rich.
Richard, you say you love me; you shall share all this with me.
We will fly together to Switzerland; we will evade pursuit; my
powerful friends will intervene and arrange a separation; and I
shall, at length, be happy and reward my hero."

You may suppose the style, florid and vehement, in which I poured
forth my gratitude, vowed the devotion of my life, and placed
myself absolutely at her disposal.

"To-morrow night," she said, "my husband will attend the remains
of his cousin, Monsieur de St. Amand, to Père la Chaise. The
hearse, he says, will leave this at half-past nine. You must be
here, where we stand, at nine o'clock."

I promised punctual obedience.

"I will not meet you here; but you see a red light in the window
of the tower at that angle of the château?"

I assented.

"I placed it there, that, to-morrow night, when it comes, you may
recognize it. So soon as that rose-coloured light appears at that
window, it will be a signal to you that the funeral has left the
château, and that you may approach safely. Come, then, to that
window; I will open it, and admit you. Five minutes after a
travelling-carriage, with four horses, shall stand ready in the
_porte-cochère_. I will place my diamonds in your hands; and so
soon as we enter the carriage, our flight commences. We shall
have at least five hours' start; and with energy, stratagem, and
resource, I fear nothing. Are you ready to undertake all this for
my sake?"

Again I vowed myself her slave.

"My only difficulty," she said, "is how we shall quickly enough
convert my diamonds into money; I dare not remove them while my
husband is in the house."

Here was the opportunity I wished for. I now told her that I had
in my banker's hands no less a sum than thirty thousand pounds,
with which, in the shape of gold and notes, I should come
furnished, and thus the risk and loss of disposing of her
diamonds in too much haste would be avoided.

"Good heaven!" she exclaimed, with a kind of disappointment. "You
are rich, then? and I have lost the felicity of making my
generous friend more happy. Be it so! since so it must be. Let us
contribute, each, in equal shares, to our common fund. Bring you,
your money; I, my jewels. There is a happiness to me even in
mingling my resources with yours."

On this there followed a romantic colloquy, all poetry and
passion, such as I should, in vain, endeavour to reproduce.

Then came a very special instruction.

"I have come provided, too, with a key, the use of which I must
explain."

It was a double key--a long, slender stem, with a key at each
end--one about the size which opens an ordinary room door; the
other, as small, almost, as the key of a dressing-case.

"You cannot employ too much caution to-morrow night. An
interruption would murder all my hopes. I have learned that you
occupy the haunted room in the Dragon Volant. It is the very room
I would have wished you in. I will tell you why--there is a story
of a man who, having shut himself up in that room one night,
disappeared before morning. The truth is, he wanted, I believe,
to escape from creditors; and the host of the Dragon Volant, at
that time, being a rogue, aided him in absconding. My husband
investigated the matter, and discovered how his escape was made.
It was by means of this key. Here is a memorandum and a plan
describing how they are to be applied. I have taken them from the
Count's escritoire. And now, once more I must leave to your
ingenuity how to mystify the people at the Dragon Volant. Be sure
you try the keys first, to see that the locks turn freely. I will
have my jewels ready. You, whatever we divide, had better bring
your money, because it may be many months before you can revisit
Paris, or disclose our place of residence to any one; and our
passports--arrange all that; in what names, and whither, you
please. And now, dear Richard" (she leaned her arm fondly on my
shoulder, and looked with ineffable passion in my eyes, with her
other hand clasped in mine), "my very life is in your hands; I
have staked all on your fidelity."

As she spoke the last word, she, on a sudden, grew deadly pale,
and gasped, "Good God! who is here?"

At the same moment she receded through the door in the marble
screen, close to which she stood, and behind which was a small
roofless chamber, as small as the shrine, the window of which was
darkened by a clustering mass of ivy so dense that hardly a gleam
of light came through the leaves.

I stood upon the threshold which she had just crossed, looking in
the direction in which she had thrown that one terrified glance.
No wonder she was frightened. Quite close upon us, not twenty
yards away, and approaching at a quick step, very distinctly
lighted by the moon, Colonel Gaillarde and his companion were
coming. The shadow of the cornice and a piece of wall were upon
me. Unconscious of this, I was expecting the moment when, with
one of his frantic yells, he should spring forward to assail me.

I made a step backward, drew one of my pistols from my pocket,
and cocked it. It was obvious he had not seen me.

I stood, with my finger on the trigger, determined to shoot him
dead if he should attempt to enter the place where the Countess
was. It would, no doubt, have been a murder; but, in my mind, I
had no question or qualm about it. When once we engage in secret
and guilty practices we are nearer other and greater crimes than
we at all suspect.

"There's the statue," said the Colonel, in his brief discordant
tones. "That's the figure."

"Alluded to in the stanzas?" inquired his companion.

"The very thing. We shall see more next time. Forward, Monsieur;
let us march."

And, much to my relief, the gallant Colonel turned on his heel,
and marched through the trees, with his back toward the château,
striding over the grass, as I quickly saw, to the park wall,
which they crossed not far from the gables of the Dragon Volant.

I found the Countess trembling in no affected, but a very real
terror. She would not hear of my accompanying her toward the
château. But I told her that I would prevent the return of the
mad Colonel; and upon that point, at least, that she need fear
nothing. She quickly recovered, again bid me a fond and lingering
good-night, and left me, gazing after her, with the key in my
hand, and such a phantasmagoria floating in my brain as amounted
very nearly to madness.

There was I, ready to brave all dangers, all right and reason,
plunge into murder itself, on the first summons, and entangle
myself in consequences inextricable and horrible (what cared I?)
for a woman of whom I knew nothing, but that she was beautiful
and reckless!

I have often thanked heaven for its mercy in conducting me
through the labyrinths in which I had all but lost myself.

CHAPTER XX.

A HIGH-CAULD CAP.

I was now upon the road, within two or three hundred yards of the
Dragon Volant. I had undertaken an adventure with a vengeance!
And by way of prelude, there not improbably awaited me, at my
inn, another encounter, perhaps, this time, not so lucky, with
the grotesque sabreur.

I was glad I had my pistols. I certainly was bound by no law to
allow a ruffian to cut me down, unresisting.

Stooping boughs from the old park, gigantic poplars on the other
side, and the moonlight over all, made the narrow road to the
inn-door picturesque.

I could not think very clearly just now; events were succeeding
one another so rapidly, and I, involved in the action of a drama
so extravagant and guilty, hardly knew myself or believed my own
story, as I slowly paced towards the still open door of the
Flying Dragon.

No sign of the Colonel, visible or audible, was there. In the
hall I inquired. No gentleman had arrived at the inn for the last
half hour. I looked into the public room. It was deserted. The
clock struck twelve, and I heard the servant barring the great
door. I took my candle. The lights in this rural hostelry were by
this time out, and the house had the air of one that had settled
to slumber for many hours. The cold moonlight streamed in at the
window on the landing, as I ascended the broad staircase; and I
paused for a moment to look over the wooded grounds to the
turreted château, to me, so full of interest. I bethought me,
however, that prying eyes might read a meaning in this midnight
gazing, and possibly the Count himself might, in his jealous
mood, surmise a signal in this unwonted light in the stair-window
of the Dragon Volant.

On opening my room door, with a little start, I met an extremely
old woman with the longest face I ever saw; she had what used to
be termed, a high-cauld-cap, on, the white border of which
contrasted with her brown and yellow skin, and made her wrinkled
face more ugly. She raised her curved shoulders, and looked up in
my face, with eyes unnaturally black and bright.

"I have lighted a little wood, Monsieur, because the night is
chill."

I thanked her, but she did not go. She stood with her candle in
her tremulous fingers.

"Excuse an old woman. Monsieur," she said; "but what on earth can
a young English _milord_, with all Paris at his feet, find to
amuse him in the Dragon Volant?"

Had I been at the age of fairy tales, and in daily intercourse
with the delightful Countess d'Aulnois, I should have seen in
this withered apparition, the _genius loci_, the malignant fairy,
at the stamp of whose foot, the ill-fated tenants of this very
room had, from time to time, vanished. I was past that, however;
but the old woman's dark eyes were fixed on mine, with a steady
meaning that plainly told me that my secret was known. I was
embarrassed and alarmed; I never thought of asking her what
business that was of hers.

"These old eyes saw you in the park of the château to-night."

"_I!_" I began, with all the scornful surprise I could affect.

"It avails nothing, Monsieur; I know why you stay here; and I
tell you to begone. Leave this house to-morrow morning, and never
come again."

She lifted her disengaged hand, as she looked at me with intense
horror in her eyes.

"There is nothing on earth--I don't know what you mean," I
answered; "and why should you care about me?"

"I don't care about you, Monsieur--I care about the honour of an
ancient family, whom I served in their happier days, when to be
noble, was to be honoured. But my words are thrown away,
Monsieur; you are insolent. I will keep my secret, and you,
yours; that is all. You will soon find it hard enough to divulge
it."

The old woman went slowly from the room and shut the door, before
I had made up my mind to say anything. I was standing where she
had left me, nearly five minutes later. The jealousy of Monsieur
the Count, I assumed, appears to this old creature about the most
terrible thing in creation. Whatever contempt I might entertain
for the dangers which this old lady so darkly intimated, it was
by no means pleasant, you may suppose, that a secret so dangerous
should be so much as suspected by a stranger, and that stranger a
partisan of the Count de St. Alyre.

Ought I not, at all risks, to apprize the Countess, who had
trusted me so generously, or, as she said herself, so madly, of
the fact that our secret was, at least, suspected by another? But
was there not greater danger in attempting to communicate? What
did the beldame mean by saying, "Keep your secret, and I'll keep
mine?"

I had a thousand distracting questions before me. My progress
seemed like a journey through the Spessart, where at every step
some new goblin or monster starts from the ground or steps from
behind a tree.

Peremptorily I dismissed these harassing and frightful doubts. I
secured my door, sat myself down at my table, and with a candle
at each side, placed before me the piece of vellum which
contained the drawings and notes on which I was to rely for full
instructions as to how to use the key.

When I had studied this for awhile, I made my investigation. The
angle of the room at the right side of the window was cut off by
an oblique turn in the wainscot. I examined this carefully, and,
on pressure, a small bit of the frame of the woodwork slid aside,
and disclosed a keyhole. On removing my finger, it shot back to
its place again, with a spring. So far I had interpreted my
instructions successfully. A similar search, next the door, and
directly under this, was rewarded by a like discovery. The small
end of the key fitted this, as it had the upper keyhole; and now,
with two or three hard jerks at the key, a door in the panel
opened, showing a strip of the bare wall, and a narrow, arched
doorway, piercing the thickness of the wall; and within which I
saw a screw-staircase of stone.

Candle in hand I stepped in. I do not know whether the quality of air,
long undisturbed, is peculiar; to me it has always seemed so, and the
damp smell of the old masonry hung in this atmosphere. My candle faintly
lighted the bare stone wall that enclosed the stair, the foot of which I
could not see. Down I went, and a few turns brought me to the stone
floor. Here was another door, of the simple, old, oak kind, deep sunk in
the thickness of the wall. The large end of the key fitted this. The
lock was stiff; I set the candle down upon the stair, and applied both
hands; it turned with difficulty, and as it revolved, uttered a shriek
that alarmed me for my secret.

For some minutes I did not move. In a little time, however, I
took courage, and opened the door. The night-air floating in,
puffed out the candle. There was a thicket of holly and
underwood, as dense as a jungle, close about the door. I should
have been in pitch-darkness, were it not that through the topmost
leaves, there twinkled, here and there, a glimmer of moonshine.

Softly, lest any one should have opened his window, at the sound
of the rusty bolt, I struggled through this, till I gained a view
of the open grounds. Here I found that the brushwood spread a
good way up the park, uniting with the wood that approached the
little temple I have described.

A general could not have chosen a more effectually-covered
approach from the Dragon Volant to the trysting-place where
hitherto I had conferred with the idol of my lawless adoration.

Looking back upon the old inn, I discovered that the stair I
descended, was enclosed in one of those slender turrets that
decorate such buildings. It was placed at that angle which
corresponded with the part of the paneling of my room indicated
in the plan I had been studying.

Thoroughly satisfied with my experiment, I made my way back to
the door, with some little difficulty, re-mounted to my room,
locked my secret door again; kissed the mysterious key that her
hand had pressed that night, and placed it under my pillow, upon
which, very soon after, my giddy head was laid, not, for some
time, to sleep soundly.

CHAPTER XXI.

I SEE THREE MEN IN A MIRROR.

I awoke very early next morning, and was too excited to sleep
again. As soon as I could, without exciting remark, I saw my
host. I told him that I was going into town that night, and
thence to ----, where I had to see some people on business, and
requested him to mention my being there to any friend who might
call. That I expected to be back in about a week, and that in the
meantime my servant, St. Clair, would keep the key of my room,
and look after my things.

Having prepared this mystification for my landlord, I drove into
Paris, and there transacted the financial part of the affair. The
problem was to reduce my balance, nearly thirty thousand pounds,
to a shape in which it would be not only easily portable, but
available, wherever I might go, without involving correspondence,
or any other incident which would disclose my place of residence,
for the time being. All these points were as nearly provided for
as they could be. I need not trouble you about my arrangements
for passports. It is enough to say that the point I selected for
our flight was, in the spirit of romance, one of the most
beautiful and sequestered nooks in Switzerland.

Luggage, I should start with none. The first considerable town we
reached next morning, would supply an extemporized wardrobe. It
was now two o'clock; _only_ two! How on earth was I to dispose of
the remainder of the day?

I had not yet seen the cathedral of Notre Dame; and thither I drove. I
spent an hour or more there; and then to the Conciergerie, the Palais de
Justice, and the beautiful Sainte Chapelle. Still there remained some
time to get rid of, and I strolled into the narrow streets adjoining the
cathedral. I recollect seeing, in one of them, an old house with a mural
inscription stating that it had been the residence of Canon Fulbert, the
uncle of Abelard's Eloise. I don't know whether these curious old
streets, in which I observed fragments of ancient gothic churches fitted
up as warehouses, are still extant. I lighted, among other dingy and
eccentric shops, upon one that seemed that of a broker of all sorts of
old decorations, armour, china, furniture. I entered the shop; it was
dark, dusty, and low. The proprietor was busy scouring a piece of inlaid
armour, and allowed me to poke about his shop, and examine the curious
things accumulated there, just as I pleased. Gradually I made my way to
the farther end of it, where there was but one window with many panes,
each with a bull's-eye in it, and in the dirtiest possible state. When I
reached this window, I turned about, and in a recess, standing at right
angles with the side wall of the shop, was a large mirror in an
old-fashioned dingy frame. Reflected in this I saw, what in old houses I
have heard termed an "alcove," in which, among lumber, and various dusty
articles hanging on the wall, there stood a table, at which three
persons were seated, as it seemed to me, in earnest conversation. Two of
these persons I instantly recognized; one was Colonel Gaillarde, the
other was the Marquis d'Harmonville. The third, who was fiddling with a
pen, was a lean, pale man, pitted with the small-pox, with lank black
hair, and about as mean-looking a person as I had ever seen in my life.
The Marquis looked up, and his glance was instantaneously followed by
his two companions. For a moment I hesitated what to do. But it was
plain that I was not recognized, as indeed I could hardly have been, the
light from the window being behind me, and the portion of the shop
immediately before me, being very dark indeed.

Perceiving this, I had presence of mind to affect being entirely
engrossed by the objects before me, and strolled slowly down the
shop again. I paused for a moment to hear whether I was followed,
and was relieved when I heard no step. You may be sure I did not
waste more time in that shop, where I had just made a discovery
so curious and so unexpected.

It was no business of mine to inquire what brought Colonel
Gaillarde and the Marquis together, in so shabby, and even dirty
a place, or who the mean person, biting the feather end of his
pen, might be. Such employments as the Marquis had accepted
sometimes make strange bed-fellows.

I was glad to get away, and just as the sun set, I had reached the steps
of the Dragon Volant, and dismissed the vehicle in which I arrived,
carrying in my hand a strong box, of marvellously small dimensions
considering all it contained, strapped in a leather cover, which
disguised its real character.

When I got to my room, I summoned St. Clair. I told him nearly
the same story, I had already told my host. I gave him fifty
pounds, with orders to expend whatever was necessary on himself,
and in payment for my rooms till my return. I then eat a slight
and hasty dinner. My eyes were often upon the solemn old clock
over the chimney-piece, which was my sole accomplice in keeping
tryste in this iniquitous venture. The sky favoured my design,
and darkened all things with a sea of clouds.

The innkeeper met me in the hall, to ask whether I should want a
vehicle to Paris? I was prepared for this question, and instantly
answered that I meant to walk to Versailles, and take a carriage
there. I called St. Clair.

"Go," said I, "and drink a bottle of wine with your friends. I
shall call you if I should want anything; in the meantime, here
is the key of my room; I shall be writing some notes, so don't
allow any one to disturb me, for at least half an hour. At the
end of that time you will probably find that I have left this for
Versailles; and should you not find me in the room, you may take
that for granted; and you take charge of everything, and lock the
door, you understand?"

St. Clair took his leave, wishing me all happiness and no doubt
promising himself some little amusement with my money. With my
candle in my hand, I hastened upstairs. It wanted now but five
minutes to the appointed time. I do not think there is anything
of the coward in my nature; but I confess, as the crisis
approached, I felt something of the suspense and awe of a soldier
going into action. Would I have receded? Not for all this earth
could offer.

I bolted my door, put on my great coat, and placed my pistols,
one in each pocket. I now applied my key to the secret locks;
drew the wainscot-door a little open, took my strong box under my
arm, extinguished my candle, unbolted my door, listened at it
for a few moments to be sure that no one was approaching, and
then crossed the floor of my room swiftly, entered the secret
door, and closed the spring lock after me. I was upon the
screw-stair in total darkness, the key in my fingers. Thus far
the undertaking was successful.

CHAPTER XXII.

RAPTURE.

Down the screw-stair I went in utter darkness; and having reached
the stone floor, I discerned the door and groped out the
key-hole. With more caution, and less noise than upon the night
before, I opened the door, and stepped out into the thick
brushwood. It was almost as dark in this jungle.

Having secured the door, I slowly pushed my way through the
bushes, which soon became less dense. Then, with more ease, but
still under thick cover, I pursued in the track of the wood,
keeping near its edge.

At length, in the darkened air, about fifty yards away, the
shafts of the marble temple rose like phantoms before me, seen
through the trunks of the old trees. Everything favoured my
enterprise. I had effectually mystified my servant and the people
of the Dragon Volant, and so dark was the night, that even had I
alarmed the suspicions of all the tenants of the inn, I might
safely defy their united curiosity, though posted at every window
of the house.

Through the trunks, over the roots of the old trees, I reached
the appointed place of observation. I laid my treasure, in its
leathern case, in the embrasure, and leaning my arms upon it,
looked steadily in the direction of the château. The outline of
the building was scarcely discernible, blending dimly, as it did,
with the sky. No light in any window was visible. I was plainly
to wait; but for how long?

Leaning on my box of treasure, gazing toward the massive shadow
that represented the château, in the midst of my ardent and
elated longings, there came upon me an odd thought, which you
will think might well have struck me long before. It seemed on a
sudden, as it came, that the darkness deepened, and a chill stole
into the air around me.

Suppose I were to disappear finally, like those other men whose
stories I had listened to! Had I not been at all the pains that
mortal could, to obliterate every trace of my real proceedings,
and to mislead every one to whom I spoke as to the direction in
which I had gone?

This icy, snake-light thought stole through my mind, and was
gone.

It was with me the full-blooded season of youth, conscious
strength, rashness, passion, pursuit, the adventure! Here were a
pair of double-barrelled pistols, four lives in my hands? What
could possibly happen? The Count--except for the sake of my
dulcinea, what was it to me whether the old coward whom I had
seen, in an ague of terror before the brawling Colonel,
interposed or not? I was assuming the worst that could happen.
But with an ally so clever and courageous as my beautiful
Countess, could any such misadventure befall? Bah! I laughed at
all such fancies.

As I thus communed with myself, the signal light sprang up. The
rose-coloured light, _couleur de rose_, emblem of sanguine hope,
and the dawn of a happy day.

Clear, soft, and steady, glowed the light from the window. The
stone shafts showed black against it. Murmuring words of
passionate love as I gazed upon the signal, I grasped my strong
box under my arm, and with rapid strides approached the Château
de la Carque. No sign of light or life, no human voice, no tread
of foot, no bark of dog, indicated a chance of interruption. A
blind was down; and as I came close to the tall window, I found
that half-a-dozen steps led up to it, and that a large lattice,
answering for a door, lay open.

A shadow from within fell upon the blind; it was drawn aside, and
as I ascended the steps, a soft voice murmured--"Richard, dearest
Richard, come, oh! come! how I have longed for this moment?"

Never did she look so beautiful. My love rose to passionate
enthusiasm. I only wished there were some real danger in the
adventure worthy of such a creature. When the first tumultuous
greeting was over, she made me sit beside her on a sofa. There we
talked for a minute or two. She told me that the Count had gone,
and was by that time more than a mile on his way, with the
funeral, to Père la Chaise. Here were her diamonds. She
exhibited, hastily, an open casket containing a profusion of the
largest brilliants.

"What is this?" she asked.

"A box containing money to the amount of thirty thousand pounds,"
I answered.

"What! all that money?" she exclaimed.

"Every _sou_."

"Was it not unnecessary to bring so much, seeing all these," she
said, touching her diamonds. "It would have been kind of you, to
allow me to provide for both for a time, at least. It would have
made me happier even than I am."

"Dearest, generous angel!" Such was my extravagant declamation.
"You forget that it may be necessary, for a long time, to observe
silence as to where we are, and impossible to communicate safely
with any one."

"You have then here this great sum--are you certain; have you
counted it?"

"Yes, certainly; I received it to-day," I answered, perhaps
showing a little surprise in my face, "I counted it, of course,
on drawing it from my bankers."

"It makes me feel a little nervous, travelling with so much
money; but these jewels make as great a danger; _that_ can add
but little to it. Place them side by side; you shall take off
your great coat when we are ready to go, and with it manage to
conceal these boxes. I should not like the drivers to suspect
that we were conveying such a treasure. I must ask you now to
close the curtains of that window, and bar the shutters."

I had hardly done this when a knock was heard at the room-door.

"I know who this is," she said, in a whisper to me.

I saw that she was not alarmed. She went softly to the door, and
a whispered conversation for a minute followed.

"My trusty maid, who is coming with us. She says we cannot safely
go sooner than ten minutes. She is bringing some coffee to the
next room."

She opened the door and looked in.

"I must tell her not to take too much luggage. She is so odd!
Don't follow--stay where you are--it is better that she should
not see you."

She left the room with a gesture of caution.

A change had come over the manner of this beautiful woman. For
the last few minutes a shadow had been stealing over her, an air
of abstraction, a look bordering on suspicion. Why was she pale?
Why had there come that dark look in her eyes? Why had her very
voice become changed? Had anything gone suddenly wrong? Did some
danger threaten?

This doubt, however, speedily quieted itself. If there had been
anything of the kind, she would, of course, have told me. It was
only natural that, as the crisis approached, she should become
more and more nervous. She did not return quite so soon as I had
expected. To a man in my situation absolute quietude is next to
impossible. I moved restlessly about the room. It was a small
one. There was a door at the other end. I opened it, rashly
enough. I listened, it was perfectly silent. I was in an excited,
eager state, and every faculty engrossed about what was coming,
and in so far detached from the immediate present. I can't
account, in any other way, for my having done so many foolish
things that night, for I was, naturally, by no means deficient
in cunning. About the most stupid of those was, that instead of
immediately closing that door, which I never ought to have
opened, I actually took a candle and walked into the room.

There I made, quite unexpectedly, a rather startling discovery.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A CUP OF COFFEE.

The room was carpetless. On the floor were a quantity of
shavings, and some score of bricks. Beyond these, on a narrow
table, lay an object, which I could hardly believe I saw aright.

I approached and drew from it a sheet which had very slightly
disguised its shape. There was no mistake about it. It was a
coffin; and on the lid was a plate, with the inscription in
French:

      PIERRE DE LA ROCHE ST. AMAND.

            AGÉE DE XXIII ANS.

I drew back with a double shock. So, then, the funeral after all
had not yet left! Here lay the body. I had been deceived. This,
no doubt, accounted for the embarrassment so manifest in the
Countess's manner. She would have done more wisely had she told
me the true state of the case.

I drew back from this melancholy room, and closed the door. Her
distrust of me was the worst rashness she could have committed.
There is nothing more dangerous than misapplied caution. In
entire ignorance of the fact I had entered the room, and there I
might have lighted upon some of the very persons it was our
special anxiety that I should avoid.

These reflections were interrupted, almost as soon as begun, by
the return of the Countess de St. Alyre. I saw at a glance that
she detected in my face some evidence of what had happened, for
she threw a hasty look towards the door.

"Have you seen anything--anything to disturb you, dear Richard?
Have you been out of this room?"

I answered promptly, "Yes," and told her frankly what had
happened.

"Well, I did not like to make you more uneasy than necessary.
Besides, it is disgusting and horrible. The body _is_ there; but
the Count had departed a quarter of an hour before I lighted the
coloured lamp, and prepared to receive you. The body did not
arrive till eight or ten minutes after he had set out. He was
afraid lest the people at Père la Chaise should suppose that the
funeral was postponed. He knew that the remains of poor Pierre
would certainly reach this to-night although an unexpected delay
has occurred; and there are reasons why he wishes the funeral
completed before to-morrow. The hearse with the body must leave
this in ten minutes. So soon as it is gone, we shall be free to
set out upon our wild and happy journey. The horses are to the
carriage in the _porte-cochère_. As for this _funeste_ horror
(she shuddered very prettily), let us think of it no more."

She bolted the door of communication, and when she turned, it was
with such a pretty penitence in her face and attitude, that I was
ready to throw myself at her feet.

"It is the last time," she said, in a sweet sad little pleading,
"I shall ever practise a deception on my brave and beautiful
Richard--my hero? Am I forgiven."

Here was another scene of passionate effusion, and lovers'
raptures and declamations, but only murmured, lest the ears of
listeners should be busy.

At length, on a sudden, she raised her hand, as if to prevent my
stirring, her eyes fixed on me, and her ear toward the door of
the room in which the coffin was placed, and remained breathless
in that attitude for a few moments. Then, with a little nod
towards me, she moved on tip-toe to the door, and listened,
extending her hand backward as if to warn me against advancing;
and, after a little time, she returned, still on tip-toe, and
whispered to me, "They are removing the coffin--come with me."

I accompanied her into the room from which her maid, as she told
me, had spoken to her. Coffee and some old china cups, which
appeared to me quite beautiful, stood on a silver tray; and some
liqueur glasses, with a flask, which turned out to be noyeau, on
a salver beside it.

"I shall attend you. I'm to be your servant here; I am to have my
own way; I shall not think myself forgiven by my darling if he
refuses to indulge me in anything." She filled a cup with
coffee, and handed it to me with her left hand, her right arm she
fondly, passed over my shoulder, and with her fingers through my
curls caressingly, she whispered, "Take this, I shall take some
just now."

It was excellent; and when I had done she handed me the liqueur,
which I also drank.

"Come back, dearest, to the next room," she said. "By this time
those terrible people must have gone away, and we shall be safer
there, for the present, than here."

"You shall direct, and I obey; you shall command me, not only
now, but always, and in all things, my beautiful queen!" I
murmured.

My heroics were unconsciously, I daresay, founded upon my ideal
of the French school of lovemaking. I am, even now, ashamed as I
recall the bombast to which I treated the Countess de St. Alyre.

"There, you shall have another miniature glass--a fairy glass--of
noyeau," she said, gaily. In this volatile creature, the funereal
gloom of the moment before, and the suspense of an adventure on
which all her future was staked, disappeared in a moment. She ran
and returned with another tiny glass, which, with an eloquent or
tender little speech, I placed to my lips and sipped.

I kissed her hand, I kissed her lips, I gazed in her beautiful
eyes, and kissed her again unresisting.

"You call me Richard, by what name am I to call my beautiful
divinity?" I asked.

"You call me Eugenie, it is my name. Let us be quite real; that
is, if you love as entirely as I do."

"Eugenie!" I exclaimed, and broke into a new rapture upon the
name.

It ended by my telling her how impatient I was to set out upon
our journey; and, as I spoke, suddenly an odd sensation overcame
me. It was not in the slightest degree like faintness. I can find
no phrase to describe it, but a sudden constraint of the brain;
it was as if the membrane in which it lies, if there be such a
thing, contracted, and became inflexible.

"Dear Richard! what is the matter?" she exclaimed, with terror in
her looks. "Good Heavens! are you ill. I conjure you, sit down;
sit in this chair." She almost forced me into one; I was in no
condition to offer the least resistance. I recognised but too
truly the sensations that supervened. I was lying back in the
chair in which I sat without the power, by this time, of uttering
a syllable, of closing my eyelids, of moving my eyes, of stirring
a muscle. I had in a few seconds glided into precisely the state
in which I had passed so many appalling hours when approaching
Paris, in my night-drive with the Marquis d'Harmonville.

Great and loud was the lady's agony. She seemed to have lost all
sense of fear. She called me by my name, shook me by the
shoulder, raised my arm and let it fall, all the time imploring
of me, in distracting sentences, to make the slightest sign of
life, and vowing that if I did not, she would make away with
herself.

These ejaculations, after a minute or two, suddenly subsided. The
lady was perfectly silent and cool. In a very business-like way
she took a candle and stood before me, pale indeed, very pale,
but with an expression only of intense scrutiny with a dash of
horror in it. She moved the candle before my eyes slowly,
evidently watching the effect. She then set it down, and rang a
hand-bell two or three times sharply. She placed the two cases (I
mean hers containing the jewels) and my strong box, side by side
on the table; and I saw her carefully lock the door that gave
access to the room in which I had just now sipped my coffee.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.