We had left the scene of my police visit, as I should have termed it, now two leagues behind us, when I suddenly felt a strange throbbing in one ear, and a sensation as if air passed through it into my throat. It seemed as if a bubble of air, formed deep in my ear, swelled, and burst there. The indescribable tension of my brain seemed all at once to give way; there was an odd humming in my head, and a sort of vibration through every nerve of my body, such as I have experienced in a limb that has been, in popular phraseology, asleep. I uttered a cry and half rose from my seat, and then fell back trembling, and with a sense of mortal faintness. The Marquis stared at me, took my hand, and earnestly asked if I was ill. I could answer only with a deep groan. Gradually the process of restoration was completed; and I was able, though very faintly, to tell him how very ill I had been; and then to describe the violation of my letters, during the time of his absence from the carriage. Good heaven! he exclaimed, the miscreant did not get at my dispatchbox? I satisfied him, so far as I had observed, on that point. He placed the box on the seat beside him, and opened and examined its contents very minutely. Yes, undisturbed; all safe, thank heaven! he murmured. There are halfadozen letters here, that I would not have some people read, for a great deal. He now asked with a very kind anxiety all about the illness I complained of. When he had heard me, he said A friend of mine once had an attack as like yours as possible. It was on boardship, and followed a state of high excitement. He was a brave man like you; and was called on to exert both his strength and his courage suddenly. An hour or two after, fatigue overpowered him, and he appeared to fall into a sound sleep. He really sank into a state which he afterwards described so, that I think it must have been precisely the same affection as yours. I am happy to think that my attack was not unique. Did he ever experience a return of it? I knew him for years after, and never heard of any such thing. What strikes me is a parallel in the predisposing causes of each attack. Your unexpected, and gallant handtohand encounter, at such desperate odds, with an experienced swordsman, like that insane colonel of dragoons, your fatigue, and, finally, your composing yourself, as my other friend did, to sleep. I wish, he resumed, one could make out who that coquin was, who examined your letters. It is not worth turning back, however, because we should learn nothing. Those people always manage so adroitly. I am satisfied, however, that he must have been an agent of the police. A rogue of any other kind would have robbed you. I talked very little, being ill and exhausted, but the Marquis talked on agreeably. We grow so intimate, said he, at last, that I must remind you that I am not, for the present, the Marquis dHarmonville, but only Monsieur Droqville; nevertheless, when we get to Paris, although I cannot see you often, I may be of use. I shall ask you to name to me the hotel at which you mean to put up; because the Marquis being, as you are aware, on his travels, the Hotel dHarmonville is, for the present, tenanted only by two or three old servants, who must not even see Monsieur Droqville. That gentleman will, nevertheless, contrive to get you access to the box of Monsieur le Marquis, at the Opera; as well, possibly, as to other places more difficult; and so soon as the diplomatic office of the Marquis dHarmonville is ended, and he at liberty to declare himself, he will not excuse his friend, Monsieur Beckett, from fulfilling his promise to visit him this autumn at the Chteau dHarmonville. You may be sure I thanked the Marquis. The nearer we got to Paris, the more I valued his protection. The countenance of a great man on the spot, just then, taking so kind an interest in the stranger whom he had, as it were, blundered upon, might make my visit ever so many degrees more delightful than I had anticipated. Nothing could be more gracious than the manner and looks of the Marquis; and, as I still thanked him, the carriage suddenly stopped in front of the place where a relay of horses awaited us, and where, as it turned out, we were to part. IX Gossip and Counsel My eventful journey was over, at last. I sat in my hotel window looking out upon brilliant Paris, which had, in a moment, recovered all its gaiety, and more than its accustomed bustle. Everyone has read of the kind of excitement that followed the catastrophe of Napoleon, and the second restoration of the Bourbons. I need not, therefore, even if, at this distance, I could, recall and describe my experiences and impressions of the peculiar aspect of Paris, in those strange times. It was, to be sure, my first visit. But, often as I have seen it since, I dont think I ever saw that delightful capital in a state, pleasurably, so excited and exciting. I had been two days in Paris, and had seen all sorts of sights, and experienced none of that rudeness and insolence of which others complained, from the exasperated officers of the defeated French army. I must say this, also. My romance had taken complete possession of me; and the chance of seeing the object of my dream, gave a secret and delightful interest to my rambles and drives in the streets and environs, and my visits to the galleries and other sights of the metropolis. I had neither seen nor heard of Count or Countess, nor had the Marquis dHarmonville made any sign. I had quite recovered the strange indisposition under which I had suffered during my night journey. It was now evening, and I was beginning to fear that my patrician acquaintance had quite forgotten me, when the waiter presented me the card of Monsieur Droqville; and, with no small elation and hurry, I desired him to show the gentleman up. In came the Marquis dHarmonville, kind and gracious as ever. I am a nightbird at present, said he, so soon as we had exchanged the little speeches which are usual. I keep in the shade, during the daytime, and even now I hardly ventured to come in a close carriage. The friends for whom I have undertaken a rather critical service, have so ordained it. They think all is lost, if I am known to be in Paris. First let me present you with these orders for my box. I am so vexed that I cannot command it oftener during the next fortnight; during my absence, I had directed my secretary to give it for any night to the first of my friends who might apply, and the result is, that I find next to nothing left at my disposal. I thanked him very much. And now, a word, in my office of Mentor. You have not come here, of course, without introductions? I produced halfadozen letters, the addresses of which he looked at. Dont mind these letters, he said. I will introduce you. I will take you myself from house to house. One friend at your side is worth many letters. Make no intimacies, no acquaintances, until then. You young men like best to exhaust the public amusements of a great city, before embarrassing yourself with the engagements of society. Go to all these. It will occupy you, day and night, for at least three weeks. When this is over, I shall be at liberty, and will myself introduce you to the brilliant but comparatively quiet routine of society. Place yourself in my hands; and in Paris remember, when once in society, you are always there. I thanked him very much, and promised to follow his counsels implicitly. He seemed pleased, and said I shall now tell you some of the places you ought to go to. Take your map, and write letters or numbers upon the points I will indicate, and we will make out a little list. All the places that I shall mention to you are worth seeing. In this methodical way, and with a great deal of amusing and scandalous anecdote, he furnished me with a catalogue and a guide, which, to a seeker of novelty and pleasure, was invaluable. In a fortnight, perhaps in a week, he said, I shall be at leisure to be of real use to you. In the meantime, be on your guard. You must not play; you will be robbed if you do. Remember, you are surrounded, here, by plausible swindlers and villains of all kinds, who subsist by devouring strangers. Trust no one but those you know. I thanked him again, and promised to profit by his advice. But my heart was too full of the beautiful lady of the Belle Etoile, to allow our interview to close without an effort to learn something about her. I therefore asked for the Count and Countess de St. Alyre, whom I had had the good fortune to extricate from an extremely unpleasant row in the hall of the inn. Alas! he had not seen them since. He did not know where they were staying. They had a fine old house only a few leagues from Paris; but he thought it probable that they would remain, for a few days at least, in the city, as preparations would, no doubt, be necessary, after so long an absence, for their reception at home. How long have they been away? About eight months, I think. They are poor, I think you said? What you would consider poor. But, Monsieur, the Count has an income which affords them the comforts, and even the elegancies of life, living as they do, in a very quiet and retired way, in this cheap country. Then they are very happy? One would say they ought to be happy. And what prevents? He is jealous. But his wifeshe gives him no cause? I am afraid she does. How, Monsieur? I always thought she was a little tooa great deal too Too what, Monsieur? Too handsome. But although she has remarkably fine eyes, exquisite features, and the most delicate complexion in the world, I believe that she is a woman of probity. You have never seen her? There was a lady, muffled up in a cloak, with a very thick veil on, the other night, in the hall of the Belle Etoile, when I broke that fellows head who was bullying the old Count. But her veil was so thick I could not see a feature through it. My answer was diplomatic, you observe. She may have been the Counts daughter. Do they quarrel? Who, he and his wife? Yes. A little. Oh! and what do they quarrel about? It is a long story; about the ladys diamonds. They are valuablethey are worth, La Perelleuse says, about a million of francs. The Count wishes them sold and turned into revenue, which he offers to settle as she pleases. The Countess, whose they are, resists, and for a reason which, I rather think, she cant disclose to him. And pray what is that? I asked, my curiosity a good deal piqued. She is thinking, I conjecture, how well she will look in them when she marries her second husband. Oh?yes, to be sure. But the Count de St. Alyre is a good man? Admirable, and extremely intelligent. I should wish so much to be presented to the Count you tell me hes so So agreeably married. But they are living quite out of the world. He takes her now and then to the Opera, or to a public entertainment; but that is all. And he must remember so much of the old regime, and so many of the scenes of the revolution! Yes, the very man for a philosopher, like you! And he falls asleep after dinner; and his wife dont. But, seriously, he has retired from the gay and the great world, and has grown apathetic; and so has his wife; and nothing seems to interest her now, not evenher husband! The Marquis stood up to take his leave. Dont risk your money, said he. You will soon have an opportunity of laying out some of it to great advantage. Several collections of really good pictures, belonging to persons who have mixed themselves up in this Bonapartist restoration, must come within a few weeks to the hammer. You can do wonders when these sales commence. There will be startling bargains! Reserve yourself for them. I shall let you know all about it. By the by, he said, stopping short as he approached the door, I was so near forgetting. There is to be, next week, the very thing you would enjoy so much, because you see so little of it in EnglandI mean a bal masqu, conducted, it is said, with more than usual splendour. It takes place at Versaillesall the world will be there; there is such a rush for cards! But I think I may promise you one. Good night! Adieu! X The Black Veil Speaking the language fluently and with unlimited money, there was nothing to prevent my enjoying all that was enjoyable in the French capital. You may easily suppose how two days were passed. At the end of that time, and at about the same hour, Monsieur Droqville called again. Courtly, goodnatured, gay, as usual, he told me that the masquerade ball was fixed for the next Wednesday, and that he had applied for a card for me. How awfully unlucky. I was so afraid I should not be able to go. He stared at me for a moment with a suspicious and menacing look which I did not understand, in silence, and then inquired, rather sharply. And will Monsieur Beckett be good enough to say, why not? I was a little surprised, but answered the simple truth I had made an engagement for that evening with two or three English friends, and did not see how I could. Just so! You English, wherever you are, always look out for your English boors, your beer and bifstek; and when you come here, instead of trying to learn something of the people you visit, and pretend to study, you are guzzling, and swearing, and smoking with one another, and no wiser or more polished at the end of your travels than if you had been all the time carousing in a booth at Greenwich. He laughed sarcastically, and looked as if he could have poisoned me. There it is, said he, throwing the card on the table. Take it or leave it, just as you please. I suppose I shall have my trouble for my pains; but it is not usual when a man, such as I, takes trouble, asks a favour, and secures a privilege for an acquaintance, to treat him so. This was astonishingly impertinent! I was shocked, offended, penitent. I had possibly committed unwittingly a breach of goodbreeding, according to French ideas, which almost justified the brusque severity of the Marquiss undignified rebuke. In a confusion, therefore, of many feelings, I hastened to make my apologies, and to propitiate the chance friend who had showed me so much disinterested kindness. I told him that I would, at any cost, break through the engagement in which I had unluckily entangled myself; that I had spoken with too little reflection, and that I certainly had not thanked him at all in proportion to his kindness and to my real estimate of it. Pray say not a word more; my vexation was entirely on your account; and I expressed it, I am only too conscious, in terms a great deal too strong, which, I am sure, your good nature will pardon. Those who know me a little better are aware that I sometimes say a good deal more than I intend; and am always sorry when I do. Monsieur Beckett will forget that his old friend, Monsieur Droqville, has lost his temper in his cause, for a moment, andwe are as good friends as before. He smiled like the Monsieur Droqville of the Belle Etoile, and extended his hand, which I took very respectfully and cordially. Our momentary quarrel had left us only better friends. The Marquis then told me I had better secure a bed in some hotel at Versailles, as a rush would be made to take them; and advised my going down next morning for the purpose. I ordered horses accordingly for eleven oclock; and, after a little more conversation, the Marquis dHarmonville bid me good night, and ran down the stairs with his handkerchief to his mouth and nose, and, as I saw from my window, jumped into his close carriage again and drove away. Next day I was at Versailles. As I approached the door of the Hotel de France, it was plain that I was not a moment too soon, if, indeed, I were not already too late. A crowd of carriages were drawn up about the entrance, so that I had no chance of approaching except by dismounting and pushing my way among the horses. The hall was full of servants and gentlemen screaming to the proprietor, who, in a state of polite distraction, was assuring them, one and all, that there was not a room or a closet disengaged in his entire house. I slipped out again, leaving the hall to those who were shouting, expostulating, wheedling, in the delusion that the host might, if he pleased, manage something for them. I jumped into my carriage and drove, at my horses best pace, to the Hotel du Reservoir. The blockade about this door was as complete as the other. The result was the same. It was very provoking, but what was to be done? My postillion had, a little officiously, while I was in the hall talking with the hotel authorities, got his horses, bit by bit, as other carriages moved away, to the very steps of the inn door. This arrangement was very convenient so far as getting in again was concerned. But, this accomplished, how were we to get on? There were carriages in front, and carriages behind, and no less than four rows of carriages, of all sorts, outside. I had at this time remarkably long and clear sight, and if I had been impatient before, guess what my feelings were when I saw an open carriage pass along the narrow strip of roadway left open at the other side, a barouche in which I was certain I recognized the veiled Countess and her husband. This carriage had been brought to a walk by a cart which occupied the whole breadth of the narrow way, and was moving with the customary tardiness of such vehicles. I should have done more wisely if I had jumped down on the trottoir, and run round the block of carriages in front of the barouche. But, unfortunately, I was more of a Murat than a Moltke, and preferred a direct charge upon my object to relying on tactique. I dashed across the back seat of a carriage which was next mine, I dont know how; tumbled through a sort of gig, in which an old gentleman and a dog were dozing; stepped with an incoherent apology over the side of an open carriage, in which were four gentlemen engaged in a hot dispute; tripped at the far side in getting out, and fell flat across the backs of a pair of horses, who instantly began plunging and threw me head foremost in the dust. To those who observed my reckless charge without being in the secret of my object I must have appeared demented. Fortunately, the interesting barouche had passed before the catastrophe, and covered as I was with dust, and my hat blocked, you may be sure I did not care to present myself before the object of my quixotic devotion. I stood for a while amid a storm of sacring, tempered disagreeably with laughter; and in the midst of these, while endeavouring to beat the dust from my clothes with my handkerchief, I heard a voice with which I was acquainted call, Monsieur Beckett. I looked and saw the Marquis peeping from a carriagewindow. It was a welcome sight. In a moment I was at his carriage side. You may as well leave Versailles, he said; you have learned, no doubt, that there is not a bed to hire in either of the hotels; and I can add that there is not a room to let in the whole town. But I have managed something for you that will answer just as well. Tell your servant to follow us, and get in here and sit beside me. Fortunately an opening in the closelypacked carriages had just occurred, and mine was approaching. I directed the servant to follow us; and the Marquis having said a word to his driver, we were immediately in motion. I will bring you to a comfortable place, the very existence of which is known to but few Parisians, where, knowing how things were here, I secured a room for you. It is only a mile away, and an old comfortable inn, called Le Dragon Volant. It was fortunate for you that my tiresome business called me to this place so early. I think we had driven about a mileandahalf to the further side of the palace when we found ourselves upon a narrow old road, with the woods of Versailles on one side, and much older trees, of a size seldom seen in France, on the other. We pulled up before an antique and solid inn, built of Caen stone, in a fashion richer and more florid than was ever usual in such houses, and which indicated that it was originally designed for the private mansion of some person of wealth, and probably, as the wall bore many carved shields and supporters, of distinction also. A kind of porch, less ancient than the rest, projected hospitably with a wide and florid arch, over which, cut in high relief in stone, and painted and gilded, was the sign of the inn. This was the Flying Dragon, with wings of brilliant red and gold, expanded, and its tail, pale green and gold, twisted and knotted into ever so many rings, and ending in a burnished point barbed like the dart of death. I shant go inbut you will find it a comfortable place; at all events better than nothing. I would go in with you, but my incognito forbids. You will, I daresay, be all the better pleased to learn that the inn is hauntedI should have been, in my young days, I know. But dont allude to that awful fact in hearing of your host, for I believe it is a sore subject. Adieu. If you want to enjoy yourself at the ball take my advice, and go in a domino. I think I shall look in; and certainly, if I do, in the same costume. How shall we recognize one another? Let me see, something held in the fingersa flower wont do, so many people will have flowers. Suppose you get a red cross a couple of inches longyoure an Englishmanstitched or pinned on the breast of your domino, and I a white one? Yes, that will do very well; and whatever room you go into keep near the door till we meet. I shall look for you at all the doors I pass; and you, in the same way, for me; and we must find each other soon. So that is understood. I cant enjoy a thing of that kind with any but a young person; a man of my age requires the contagion of young spirits and the companionship of someone who enjoys everything spontaneously. Farewell; we meet tonight. By this time I was standing on the road; I shut the carriagedoor; bid him goodbye; and away he drove. XI The Dragon Volant I took one look about me. The building was picturesque; the trees made it more so. The antique and sequestered character of the scene, contrasted strangely with the glare and bustle of the Parisian life, to which my eye and ear had become accustomed. Then I examined the gorgeous old sign for a minute or two. Next I surveyed the exterior of the house more carefully. It was large and solid, and squared more with my ideas of an ancient English hostelrie, such as the Canterbury pilgrims might have put up at, than a French house of entertainment. Except, indeed, for a round turret, that rose at the left flank of the house, and terminated in the extinguishershaped roof that suggests a French chteau. I entered and announced myself as Monsieur Beckett, for whom a room had been taken. I was received with all the consideration due to an English milord, with, of course, an unfathomable purse. My host conducted me to my apartment. It was a large room, a little sombre, panelled with dark wainscoting, and furnished in a stately and sombre style, long out of date. There was a wide hearth, and a heavy mantelpiece, carved with shields, in which I might, had I been curious enough, have discovered a correspondence with the heraldry on the outer walls. There was something interesting, melancholy, and even depressing in all this. I went to the stoneshafted window, and looked out upon a small park, with a thick wood, forming the background of a chteau, which presented a cluster of such conicaltopped turrets as I have just now mentioned. The wood and chteau were melancholy objects. They showed signs of neglect, and almost of decay; and the gloom of fallen grandeur, and a certain air of desertion hung oppressively over the scene. I asked my host the name of the chteau. That, Monsieur, is the Chteau de la Carque, he answered. It is a pity it is so neglected, I observed. I should say, perhaps, a pity that its proprietor is not more wealthy? Perhaps so, Monsieur. Perhaps?I repeated, and looked at him. Then I suppose he is not very popular. Neither one thing nor the other, Monsieur, he answered; I meant only that we could not tell what use he might make of riches. And who is he? I inquired. The Count de St. Alyre. Oh! The Count! You are quite sure? I asked, very eagerly. It was now the innkeepers turn to look at me. Quite sure, Monsieur, the Count de St. Alyre. Do you see much of him in this part of the world? Not a great deal, Monsieur; he is often absent for a considerable time. And is he poor? I inquired. I pay rent to him for this house. It is not much; but I find he cannot wait long for it, he replied, smiling satirically. From what I have heard, however, I should think he cannot be very poor? I continued. They say, Monsieur, he plays. I know not. He certainly is not rich. About seven months ago, a relation of his died in a distant place. His body was sent to the Counts house here, and by him buried in Pre la Chaise, as the poor gentleman had desired. The Count was in profound affliction; although he got a handsome legacy, they say, by that death. But money never seems to do him good for any time. He is old, I believe? Old? we call him the Wandering Jew, except, indeed, that he has not always the five sous in his pocket. Yet, Monsieur, his courage does not fail him. He has taken a young and handsome wife. And, she? I urged Is the Countess de St. Alyre. Yes; but I fancy we may say something more? She has attributes? Three, Monsieur, three, at least most amiable. Ah! And what are they? Youth, beauty, anddiamonds. I laughed. The sly old gentleman was foiling my curiosity. I see, my friend, said I, you are reluctant To quarrel with the Count, he concluded. True. You see, Monsieur, he could vex me in two or three ways; so could I him. But, on the whole, it is better each to mind his business, and to maintain peaceful relations; you understand. It was, therefore, no use trying, at least for the present. Perhaps he had nothing to relate. Should I think differently, byandby, I could try the effect of a few Napoleons. Possibly he meant to extract them. The host of the Dragon Volant was an elderly man, thin, bronzed, intelligent, and with an air of decision, perfectly military. I learned afterwards that he had served under Napoleon in his early Italian campaigns. One question, I think you may answer, I said, without risking a quarrel. Is the Count at home? He has many homes, I conjecture, said the host evasively. Butbut I think I may say, Monsieur, that he is, I believe, at present staying at the Chteau de la Carque. I looked out of the window, more interested than ever, across the undulating grounds to the chteau, with its gloomy background of foliage. I saw him today, in his carriage at Versailles, I said. Very natural. Then his carriage and horses and servants are at the chteau? The carriage he puts up here, Monsieur, and the servants are hired for the occasion. There is but one who sleeps at the chteau. Such a life must be terrifying for Madame the Countess, he replied. The old screw! I thought. By this torture, he hopes to extract her diamonds. What a life! What fiends to contend withjealousy and extortion! The knight having made this speech to himself, cast his eyes once more upon the enchanters castle, and heaved a gentle sigha sigh of longing, of resolution, and of love. What a fool I was! and yet, in the sight of angels, are we any wiser as we grow older? It seems to me, only, that our illusions change as we go on; but, still, we are madmen all the same. Well, St. Clair, said I, as my servant entered, and began to arrange my things. You have got a bed? In the cockloft, Monsieur, among the spiders, and, par ma foi! the cats and the owls. But we agree very well. Vive la bagatelle! I had no idea it was so full. Chiefly the servants, Monsieur, of those persons who were fortunate enough to get apartments at Versailles. And what do you think of the Dragon Volant? The Dragon Volant! Monsieur; the old fiery dragon! The devil himself, if all is true! On the faith of a Christian, Monsieur, they say that diabolical miracles have taken place in this house. What do you mean? Revenants? Not at all, sir; I wish it was no worse. Revenants? No! People who have never returnedwho vanished, before the eyes of halfadozen men, all looking at them. What do you mean, St. Clair? Let us hear the story, or miracle, or whatever it is. It is only this, Monsieur, that an exmasterofthehorse of the late king, who lost his headMonsieur will have the goodness to recollect, in the revolutionbeing permitted by the Emperor to return to France, lived here in this hotel, for a month, and at the end of that time vanished, visibly, as I told you, before the faces of halfadozen credible witnesses! The other was a Russian nobleman, six feet high and upwards, who, standing in the centre of the room, downstairs, describing to seven gentlemen of unquestionable veracity, the last moments of Peter the Great, and having a glass of eaudevie in his left hand, and his tasse de caf, nearly finished, in his right, in like manner vanished. His boots were found on the floor where he had been standing; and the gentleman at his right, found, to his astonishment, his cup of coffee in his fingers, and the gentleman at his left, his glass of eaudevie Which he swallowed in his confusion, I suggested. Which was preserved for three years among the curious articles of this house, and was broken by the cur while conversing with Mademoiselle Fidone in the housekeepers room; but of the Russian nobleman himself, nothing more was ever seen or heard! Parbleu! when we go out of the Dragon Volant, I hope it may be by the door. I heard all this, Monsieur, from the postillion who drove us. Then it must be true! said I, jocularly but I was beginning to feel the gloom of the view, and of the chamber in which I stood; there had stolen over me, I know not how, a presentiment of evil; and my joke was with an effort, and my spirit flagged. XII The Magician No more brilliant spectacle than this masked ball could be imagined. Among other salons and galleries, thrown open, was the enormous perspective of the Grande Galerie des Glaces, lighted up on that occasion with no less than four thousand wax candles, reflected and repeated by all the mirrors, so that the effect was almost dazzling. The grand suite of salons was thronged with masques, in every conceivable costume. There was not a single room deserted. Every place was animated with music, voices, brilliant colours, flashing jewels, the hilarity of extemporized comedy, and all the spirited incidents of a cleverly sustained masquerade. I had never seen before anything, in the least, comparable to this magnificent fte. I moved along, indolently, in my domino and mask, loitering, now and then, to enjoy a clever dialogue, a farcical song, or an amusing monologue, but, at the same time, keeping my eyes about me, lest my friend in the black domino, with the little white cross on his breast, should pass me by. I had delayed and looked about me, specially, at every door I passed, as the Marquis and I had agreed; but he had not yet appeared. While I was thus employed, in the very luxury of lazy amusement, I saw a gilded sedan chair, or, rather, a Chinese palanquin, exhibiting the fantastic exuberance of Celestial decoration, borne forward on gilded poles by four richlydressed Chinese; one with a wand in his hand marched in front, and another behind; and a slight and solemn man, with a long black beard, a tall fez, such as a dervish is represented as wearing, walked close to its side. A strangelyembroidered robe fell over his shoulders, covered with hieroglyphic symbols; the embroidery was in black and gold, upon a variegated ground of brilliant colours.


The robe was bound about his waist with a broad belt of gold, with cabalistic devices traced on it, in dark red and black; red stockings, and shoes embroidered with gold, and pointed and curved upward at the toes, in Oriental fashion, appeared below the skirt of the robe. The mans face was dark, fixed, and solemn, and his eyebrows black, and enormously heavyhe carried a singularlooking book under his arm, a wand of polished black wood in his other hand, and walked with his chin sunk on his breast, and his eyes fixed upon the floor. The man in front waved his wand right and left to clear the way for the advancing palanquin, the curtains of which were closed; and there was something so singular, strange, and solemn about the whole thing, that I felt at once interested. I was very well pleased when I saw the bearers set down their burden within a few yards of the spot on which I stood. The bearers and the men with the gilded wands forthwith clapped their hands, and in silence danced round the palanquin a curious and half frantic dance, which was yet, as to figures and postures, perfectly methodical. This was soon accompanied by a clapping of hands and a hahaing, rhythmically delivered. While the dance was going on a hand was lightly laid on my arm, and, looking round, a black domino with a white cross stood beside me. I am so glad I have found you, said the Marquis; and at this moment. This is the best group in the rooms. You must speak to the wizard. About an hour ago I lighted upon them, in another salon, and consulted the oracle, by putting questions. I never was more amazed. Although his answers were a little disguised it was soon perfectly plain that he knew every detail about the business, which no one on earth had heard of but myself, and two or three other men, about the most cautious persons in France. I shall never forget that shock. I saw other people who consulted him, evidently as much surprised, and more frightened than I. I came with the Count St. Alyre and the Countess. He nodded toward a thin figure, also in a domino. It was the Count. Come, he said to me, Ill introduce you. I followed, you may suppose, readily enough. The Marquis presented me, with a very prettilyturned allusion to my fortunate intervention in his favour at the Belle Etoile; and the Count overwhelmed me with polite speeches, and ended by saying, what pleased me better still The Countess is near us, in the next salon but one, chatting with her old friend the Duchesse dArgensaque; I shall go for her in a few minutes; and when I bring her here, she shall make your acquaintance; and thank you, also, for your assistance, rendered with so much courage when we were so very disagreeably interrupted. You must, positively, speak with the magician, said the Marquis to the Count de St. Alyre, you will be so much amused. I did so; and, I assure you, I could not have anticipated such answers! I dont know what to believe. Really! Then, by all means, let us try, he replied. We three approached, together, the side of the palanquin, at which the blackbearded magician stood. A young man, in a Spanish dress, who, with a friend at his side, had just conferred with the conjuror, was saying, as he passed us by Ingenious mystification! Who is that in the palanquin. He seems to know everybody. The Count, in his mask and domino, moved along, stiffly, with us, toward the palanquin. A clear circle was maintained by the Chinese attendants, and the spectators crowded round in a ring. One of these menhe who with a gilded wand had preceded the processionadvanced, extending his empty hand, palm upward. Money? inquired the Count. Gold, replied the usher. The Count placed a piece of money in his hand; and I and the Marquis were each called on in turn to do likewise as we entered the circle. We paid accordingly. The conjuror stood beside the palanquin, its silk curtain in his hand; his chin sunk, with its long, jetblack beard, on his chest; the outer hand grasping the black wand, on which he leaned; his eyes were lowered, as before, to the ground; his face looked absolutely lifeless. Indeed, I never saw face or figure so moveless, except in death. The first question the Count put, was Am I married, or unmarried? The conjuror drew back the curtain quickly, and placed his ear toward a richlydressed Chinese, who sat in the litter; withdrew his head, and closed the curtain again; and then answered Yes. The same preliminary was observed each time, so that the man with the black wand presented himself, not as a prophet, but as a medium; and answered, as it seemed, in the words of a greater than himself. Two or three questions followed, the answers to which seemed to amuse the Marquis very much; but the point of which I could not see, for I knew next to nothing of the Counts peculiarities and adventures. Does my wife love me? asked he, playfully. As well as you deserve. Whom do I love best in the world? Self. Oh! That I fancy is pretty much the case with everyone. But, putting myself out of the question, do I love anything on earth better than my wife? Her diamonds. Oh! said the Count. The Marquis, I could see, laughed. Is it true, said the Count, changing the conversation peremptorily, that there has been a battle in Naples? No; in France. Indeed, said the Count, satirically, with a glance round. And may I inquire between what powers, and on what particular quarrel? Between the Count and Countess de St. Alyre, and about a document they subscribed on the 25th July, 1811. The Marquis afterwards told me that this was the date of their marriage settlement. The Count stood stockstill for a minute or so; and one could fancy that they saw his face flushing through his mask. Nobody, but we two, knew that the inquirer was the Count de St. Alyre. I thought he was puzzled to find a subject for his next question; and, perhaps, repented having entangled himself in such a colloquy. If so, he was relieved; for the Marquis, touching his arm, whispered Look to your right, and see who is coming. I looked in the direction indicated by the Marquis, and I saw a gaunt figure stalking toward us. It was not a masque. The face was broad, scarred, and white. In a word, it was the ugly face of Colonel Gaillarde, who, in the costume of a corporal of the Imperial Guard, with his left arm so adjusted as to look like a stump, leaving the lower part of the coatsleeve empty, and pinned up to the breast. There were strips of very real stickingplaster across his eyebrow and temple, where my stick had left its mark, to score, hereafter, among the more honourable scars of war. XIII The Oracle Tells Me Wonders I forgot for a moment how impervious my mask and domino were to the hard stare of the old campaigner, and was preparing for an animated scuffle. It was only for a moment, of course; but the Count cautiously drew a little back as the gasconading corporal, in blue uniform, white vest, and white gaitersfor my friend Gaillarde was as loud and swaggering in his assumed character as in his real one of a colonel of dragoonsdrew near. He had already twice all but got himself turned out of doors for vaunting the exploits of Napoleon le Grand, in terrific mockheroics, and had very nearly come to handgrips with a Prussian hussar. In fact, he would have been involved in several sanguinary rows already, had not his discretion reminded him that the object of his coming there at all, namely, to arrange a meeting with an affluent widow, on whom he believed he had made a tender impression, would not have been promoted by his premature removal from the festive scene, of which he was an ornament, in charge of a couple of gendarmes. Money! Gold! Bah! What money can a wounded soldier like your humble servant have amassed, with but his swordhand left, which, being necessarily occupied, places not a finger at his command with which to scrape together the spoils of a routed enemy? No gold from him, said the magician. His scars frank him. Bravo, Monsieur le prophte! Bravissimo! Here I am. Shall I begin, mon sorcier, without further loss of time, to question your Without waiting for an answer, he commenced, in stentorian tones. After halfadozen questions and answers, he asked Whom do I pursue at present? Two persons. Ha! Two? Well, who are they? An Englishman, whom, if you catch, he will kill you; and a French widow, whom if you find, she will spit in your face. Monsieur le magicien calls a spade a spade, and knows that his cloth protects him. No matter! Why do I pursue them? The widow has inflicted a wound on your heart, and the Englishman a wound on your head. They are each separately too strong for you; take care your pursuit does not unite them. Bah! How could that be? The Englishman protects ladies. He has got that fact into your head. The widow, if she sees, will marry him. It takes some time, she will reflect, to become a colonel, and the Englishman is unquestionably young. I will cut his cockscomb for him, he ejaculated with an oath and a grin; and in a softer tone he asked, Where is she? Near enough to be offended if you fail. So she ought, by my faith. You are right, Monsieur le prophte! A hundred thousand thanks! Farewell! And staring about him, and stretching his lank neck as high as he could, he strode away with his scars, and white waistcoat and gaiters, and his bearskin shako. I had been trying to see the person who sat in the palanquin. I had only once an opportunity of a tolerably steady peep. What I saw was singular. The oracle was dressed, as I have said, very richly, in the Chinese fashion. He was a figure altogether on a larger scale than the interpreter, who stood outside. The features seemed to me large and heavy, and the head was carried with a downward inclination! the eyes were closed, and the chin rested on the breast of his embroidered pelisse. The face seemed fixed, and the very image of apathy. Its character and pose seemed an exaggerated repetition of the immobility of the figure who communicated with the noisy outer world. This face looked bloodred; but that was caused, I concluded, by the light entering through the red silk curtains. All this struck me almost at a glance; I had not many seconds in which to make my observation. The ground was now clear, and the Marquis said, Go forward, my friend. I did so. When I reached the magician, as we called the man with the black wand, I glanced over my shoulder to see whether the Count was near. No, he was some yards behind; and he and the Marquis, whose curiosity seemed to be, by this time, satisfied, were now conversing generally upon some subject of course quite different. I was relieved, for the sage seemed to blurt out secrets in an unexpected way; and some of mine might not have amused the Count. I thought for a moment. I wished to test the prophet. A ChurchofEngland man was a rara avis in Paris. What is my religion? I asked. A beautiful heresy, answered the oracle instantly. A heresy?and pray how is it named? Love. Oh! Then I suppose I am a polytheist, and love a great many? One. But, seriously, I asked, intending to turn the course of our colloquy a little out of an embarrassing channel, have I ever learned any words of devotion by heart? Yes. Can you repeat them? Approach. I did, and lowered my ear. The man with the black wand closed the curtains, and whispered, slowly and distinctly, these words, which, I need scarcely tell you, I instantly recognized I may never see you more; and, oh! that I could forget you! gofarewellfor Gods sake, go! I started as I heard them. They were, you know, the last words whispered to me by the Countess. Good Heaven! How miraculous! Words heard, most assuredly, by no ear on earth but my own and the ladys who uttered them, till now! I looked at the impassive face of the spokesman with the wand. There was no trace of meaning, or even of a consciousness that the words he had uttered could possibly interest me. What do I most long for? I asked, scarcely knowing what I said. Paradise. And what prevents my reaching it? A black veil. Stronger and stronger! The answers seemed to me to indicate the minutest acquaintance with every detail of my little romance, of which not even the Marquis knew anything! And I, the questioner, masked and robed so that my own brother could not have known me! You said I loved someone. Am I loved in return? I asked. Try. I was speaking lower than before, and stood near the dark man with the beard, to prevent the necessity of his speaking in a loud key. Does anyone love me? I repeated. Secretly, was the answer. Much or little? I inquired. Too well. How long will that love last? Till the rose casts its leaves. The roseanother allusion! Thendarkness! I sighed. But till then I live in light. The light of violet eyes. Love, if not a religion, as the oracle had just pronounced it, is, at least, a superstition. How it exalts the imagination! How it enervates the reason! How credulous it makes us! All this which, in the case of another, I should have laughed at, most powerfully affected me in my own. It inflamed my ardour, and half crazed my brain, and even influenced my conduct. The spokesman of this wonderful trickif trick it werenow waved me backward with his wand, and as I withdrew, my eyes still fixed upon the group, by this time encircled with an aura of mystery in my fancy; backing toward the ring of spectators, I saw him raise his hand suddenly, with a gesture of command, as a signal to the usher who carried the golden wand in front. The usher struck his wand on the ground, and, in a shrill voice, proclaimed; The great Confu is silent for an hour. Instantly the bearers pulled down a sort of blind of bamboo, which descended with a sharp clatter, and secured it at the bottom; and then the man in the tall fez, with the black beard and wand, began a sort of dervish dance. In this the men with the gold wands joined, and finally, in an outer ring, the bearers, the palanquin being the centre of the circles described by these solemn dancers, whose pace, little by little, quickened, whose gestures grew sudden, strange, frantic, as the motion became swifter and swifter, until at length the whirl became so rapid that the dancers seemed to fly by with the speed of a millwheel, and amid a general clapping of hands, and universal wonder, these strange performers mingled with the crowd, and the exhibition, for the time at least, ended. The Marquis dHarmonville was standing not far away, looking on the ground, as one could judge by his attitude and musing. I approached, and he said The Count has just gone away to look for his wife. It is a pity she was not here to consult the prophet; it would have been amusing, I daresay, to see how the Count bore it. Suppose we follow him. I have asked him to introduce you. With a beating heart, I accompanied the Marquis dHarmonville. XIV Mademoiselle de la Vallire We wandered through the salons, the Marquis and I. It was no easy matter to find a friend in rooms so crowded. Stay here, said the Marquis, I have thought of a way of finding him. Besides, his jealousy may have warned him that there is no particular advantage to be gained by presenting you to his wife, I had better go and reason with him; as you seem to wish an introduction so very much. This occurred in the room that is now called the Salon dApollon. The paintings remained in my memory, and my adventure of that evening was destined to occur there. I sat down upon a sofa; and looked about me. Three or four persons beside myself were seated on this roomy piece of gilded furniture. They were chatting all very gaily; allexcept the person who sat next me, and she was a lady. Hardly two feet interposed between us. The lady sat apparently in a reverie. Nothing could be more graceful. She wore the costume perpetuated in Collignans fulllength portrait of Mademoiselle de la Vallire. It is, as you know, not only rich, but elegant. Her hair was powdered, but one could perceive that it was naturally a dark brown. One pretty little foot appeared, and could anything be more exquisite than her hand? It was extremely provoking that this lady wore her mask, and did not, as many did, hold it for a time in her hand. I was convinced that she was pretty. Availing myself of the privilege of a masquerade, a microcosm in which it is impossible, except by voice and allusion, to distinguish friend from foe, I spoke It is not easy, Mademoiselle, to deceive me, I began. So much the better for Monsieur, answered the mask, quietly. I mean, I said, determined to tell my fib, that beauty is a gift more difficult to conceal than Mademoiselle supposes. Yet Monsieur has succeeded very well, she said in the same sweet and careless tones. I see the costume of this, the beautiful Mademoiselle de la Vallire, upon a form that surpasses her own; I raise my eyes, and I behold a mask, and yet I recognise the lady; beauty is like that precious stone in the Arabian Nights, which emits, no matter how concealed, a light that betrays it. I know the story, said the young lady. The light betrayed it, not in the sun, but in darkness. Is there so little light in these rooms, Monsieur, that a poor glowworm can show so brightly. I thought we were in a luminous atmosphere, wherever a certain countess moved? Here was an awkward speech! How was I to answer? This lady might be, as they say some ladies are, a lover of mischief, or an intimate of the Countess de St. Alyre. Cautiously, therefore, I inquired, What countess? If you know me, you must know that she is my dearest friend. Is she not beautiful? How can I answer, there are so many countesses. Everyone who knows me, knows who my best beloved friend is. You dont know me? That is cruel. I can scarcely believe I am mistaken. With whom were you walking, just now? she asked. A gentleman, a friend, I answered. I saw him, of course, a friend; but I think I know him, and should like to be certain. Is he not a certain marquis? Here was another question that was extremely awkward. There are so many people here, and one may walk, at one time, with one, and at another with a different one, that That an unscrupulous person has no difficulty in evading a simple question like mine. Know then, once for all, that nothing disgusts a person of spirit so much as suspicion. You, Monsieur, are a gentleman of discretion. I shall respect you accordingly. Mademoiselle would despise me, were I to violate a confidence. But you dont deceive me. You imitate your friends diplomacy. I hate diplomacy. It means fraud and cowardice. Dont you think I know him. The gentleman with the cross of white ribbon on his breast. I know the Marquis dHarmonville perfectly. You see to what good purpose your ingenuity has been expended. To that conjecture I can answer neither yes nor no. You need not. But what was your motive in mortifying a lady? It is the last thing on earth I should do. You affected to know me, and you dont; through caprice or listlessness or curiosity you wished to converse, not with a lady, but with a costume. You admired, and you pretend to mistake me for another. But who is quite perfect? Is truth any longer to be found on earth? Mademoiselle has formed a mistaken opinion of me. And you also of me; you find me less foolish than you supposed. I know perfectly whom you intend amusing with compliments and melancholy declamation, and whom, with that amiable purpose, you have been seeking. Tell me whom you mean, I entreated. Upon one condition. What is that? That you will confess if I name the lady. You describe my object unfairly. I objected. I cant admit that I proposed speaking to any lady in the tone you describe. Well, I shant insist on that; only if I name the lady, you will promise to admit that I am right. Must I promise? Certainly not, there is no compulsion; but your promise is the only condition on which I will speak to you again. I hesitated for a moment; but how could she possibly tell? The Countess would scarcely have admitted this little romance to anyone; and the mask in the La Vallire costume could not possibly know who the masked domino beside her was. I consent, I said, I promise. You must promise on the honour of a gentleman. Well, I do; on the honour of a gentleman. Then this lady is the Countess de St. Alyre. I was unspeakably surprised; I was disconcerted; but I remembered my promise, and said The Countess de St. Alyre is, unquestionably, the lady to whom I hoped for an introduction tonight; but I beg to assure you also on the honour of a gentleman, that she has not the faintest imaginable suspicion that I was seeking such an honour, nor, in all probability, does she remember that such a person as I exists. I had the honour to render her and the Count a trifling service, too trifling, I fear, to have earned more than an hours recollection. The world is not so ungrateful as you suppose; or if it be, there are, nevertheless, a few hearts that redeem it. I can answer for the Countess de St. Alyre, she never forgets a kindness. She does not show all she feels; for she is unhappy, and cannot. Unhappy! I feared, indeed, that might be. But for all the rest that you are good enough to suppose, it is but a flattering dream. I told you that I am the Countesss friend, and being so I must know something of her character; also, there are confidences between us, and I may know more than you think, of those trifling services of which you suppose the recollection is so transitory. I was becoming more and more interested. I was as wicked as other young men, and the heinousness of such a pursuit was as nothing, now that selflove and all the passions that mingle in such a romance, were roused. The image of the beautiful Countess had now again quite superseded the pretty counterpart of La Vallire, who was before me. I would have given a great deal to hear, in solemn earnest, that she did remember the champion who, for her sake, had thrown himself before the sabre of an enraged dragoon, with only a cudgel in his hand, and conquered. You say the Countess is unhappy, said I. What causes her unhappiness? Many things. Her husband is old, jealous, and tyrannical. Is not that enough? Even when relieved from his society, she is lonely. But you are her friend? I suggested. And you think one friend enough? she answered; she has one alone, to whom she can open her heart. Is there room for another friend? Try. How can I find a way? She will aid you. How? She answered by a question. Have you secured rooms in either of the hotels of Versailles? No, I could not. I am lodged in the Dragon Volant, which stands at the verge of the grounds of the Chteau de la Carque. That is better still. I need not ask if you have courage for an adventure. I need not ask if you are a man of honour. A lady may trust herself to you, and fear nothing. There are few men to whom the interview, such as I shall arrange, could be granted with safety. You shall meet her at two oclock this morning in the Park of the Chteau de la Carque. What room do you occupy in the Dragon Volant? I was amazed at the audacity and decision of this girl. Was she, as we say in England, hoaxing me? I can describe that accurately, said I. As I look from the rear of the house, in which my apartment is, I am at the extreme right, next the angle; and one pair of stairs up, from the hall. Very well; you must have observed, if you looked into the park, two or three clumps of chestnut and limetrees, growing so close together as to form a small grove. You must return to your hotel, change your dress, and, preserving a scrupulous secrecy, as to why or where you go, leave the Dragon Volant, and climb the parkwall, unseen; you will easily recognize the grove I have mentioned; there you will meet the Countess, who will grant you an audience of a few minutes, who will expect the most scrupulous reserve on your part, and who will explain to you, in a few words, a great deal which I could not so well tell you here. I cannot describe the feeling with which I heard these words. I was astounded. Doubt succeeded. I could not believe these agitating words. Mademoiselle will believe that if I only dared assure myself 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 hersor shall I call it our belle toile? Have I said enough? Enough? I repeated, more than enougha 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 youa 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 oclock? 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 friends 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. Nothere 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 dHarmonville, 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. XV Strange Story of the Dragon Volant These ftes 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, ftes, 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 role 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 migr, permitted to return to France, by the Emby Napoleon. He vanished. The otherequally strangewas 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 personsI mean a returned French nobleman, and a Russian gentleman. But he made the whole story so marvellousI mean in the supernatural sensethat, 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 dont 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 bedroom, 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 interestedperhaps the least bit in the world, disagreeably. Did the people die, or were they actually spirited away? No, they did not diethey disappeared very oddly. Ill tell you the particularsI 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 Chteau Blassemare, unlike most migrs, 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 gentlemans 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 middleaged 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 nobodya 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 bedroom 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 dressingcase, 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 thirtysix 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 Chteau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we can make out, by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day before the Counts 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 snuffbox, 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 (soandso), at about the hour of halfpast ten, by a gentleman, with a blackleather travellingbag in his hand, who descended from a private carriage, and gave his servant some money, which he counted twice over. About a hundredandfifty 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 halfpast twelve oclock, on the same nightupon which you are to observe, there was a brilliant moonhe was sent, his mother having been suddenly taken ill, for the sage femme who lived within a stones throw of the Dragon Volant. His fathers 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 Chteau 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 tiptoe, with his eyes all the time on the Count Chteau 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 youand, 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 rooma case more mysterious and sinister than the lastand which occurred in the autumn of the same year. Will you both do a very goodnatured thing, and come and dine with me at the Dragon Volant tomorrow? 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 cant imagine how they tell fortunes so devilish well. Jack NufflesI met him here tonightsays they are gipsieswhere are they, I wonder? Ill 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, its so dark. He is covered with gold and red, and has an embroidered hat on like a mandarins; hes fast asleep; and, by Jove, he smells like a polecat! Its 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 manyeddied 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. XVI The Parc of the Chteau de la Carque There was no danger of the Dragon Volants 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 halldoor. I dismissed my carriage, ran up the broad staircase, mask in hand, with my domino fluttering about me, and entered the large bedroom. 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 Chteau de la Carque, its chimneys, and many turrets with their extinguishershaped roofs black against the soft grey sky. There, also, more in the foreground, about midway between the window where I stood, and the chteau, but a little to the left, I traced the tufted masses of the grove which the lady in the mask had appointed as the trystingplace, 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 lookingglass 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 hoarfrost 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 Chteau 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 hearseplumes. 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 treesmy 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 weatherworn marble. A few feet in front of the steps a fountain, fed from the great ponds at the other side of the chteau, 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 halfruinous 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 chteau, to study these things; but the halfnoted 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 Vallire 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 illassorted 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 dangerwhich, 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 ladys 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 Vallire, 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 good nature 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 Vallire, 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 forever. I have but a few moments more. Will you come here again tomorrow 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 tomorrow night by a different route, she said; and if you come again, we can change it once more. At the other side of the chteau 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 youhave you really kept the rose I gave you, as we parted? Yesyou 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 heartthrown myself at her feet. But this beautiful andshall I say itinconsistent 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 ones 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 Chteau de la Carque; and, if anyone 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 tomorrow 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 parkwall 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. 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 mineI 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 dont 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 dHarmonville, 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 oclock. 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 contretemps so unlucky! Ill 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 Counts cousin, Monsieur de St. Amand, who had died at his house, the Chteau Clery, had been, in accordance with his written directions, sent for burial at Pre La Chaise, and, with the permission of the Count de St. Alyre, would reach his house (the Chteau de la Carque), at about ten oclock 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 cant 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 halfpast one oclock 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, byandby, 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 Chteau 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 bankers, uninvested. I cared very little for a few days interestvery 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 limetrees and chestnuts of the Chteau 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 bankers 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 sittingroom, 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 bona 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. XVIII The Churchyard Our dinner was really good, so were the wines; better, perhaps, at this outoftheway inn, than at some of the more pretentious hotels in Paris. The moral effect of a really good dinner is immensewe all felt it. The serenity and good nature 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. Im 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 dont 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 gentlemanI wish I could remember his namethe 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 youngpast fortyand very far from goodlooking. The people here said that he was the ugliest man, and the most goodnatured, 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 understanda 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 oclock in the morning.