Captain Fracasse | Page 6

occasional scurrying and
squeaking of mice behind the wainscot, the gnawing of rats in the wall,
or the ticking of the death-watch.
From the tapestried chamber a door opened into a long suite of deserted
rooms, which were lofty and of noble proportions, but devoid of
furniture, and given up to dust, spiders, and rats. The apartments on the
floor above them were the home of great numbers of bats, owls, and
jackdaws, who found ready ingress through the large holes in the roof.
Every evening they flew forth in flocks, with much flapping of wings,
and weird, melancholy cries and shrieks, in search of the food not to be
found in the immediate vicinity of this forlorn mansion.
The apartments on the ground floor contained nothing but a few
bundles of straw, a heap of corn-cobs, and some antiquated gardening
implements. In one of them, however, was a rude bed, covered with a
single, coarse blanket; presumably that of the only domestic remaining

in the whole establishment.
It was from the kitchen chimney that the little spiral of smoke escaped
which was seen from without. A few sticks were burning in the wide,
old-fashioned fireplace, but the flames looked pale under the bright
light that streamed down upon them through the broad, straight flue.
The pot that hung from the clumsy iron crane was boiling sleepily, and
if the curious visitor could have peeped into it he would have seen that
the little cabbage bed in the garden had contributed of its produce to the
pot-au-feu. An old black cat was sitting as close to the fire as he could
without singeing his whiskers, and gravely watching the simmering pot
with longing eyes. His ears had been closely cropped, and he had not a
vestige of a tail, so that he looked like one of those grotesque Japanese
chimeras that everybody is familiar with. Upon the table, near at hand,
a white plate, a tin drinking cup, and a china dish, bearing the family
arms stamped in blue, were neatly arranged, evidently in readiness for
somebody's supper. For a long time the cat remained perfectly
motionless, intently watching the pot which had almost ceased to boil
as the fire got low, and the silence continued unbroken; but at last a
slow, heavy step was heard approaching from without, and presently
the door opened to admit an old man, who looked half peasant, half
gentleman's servant. The black cat immediately quitted his place by the
fire and went to meet him; rubbing himself against the newcomer's legs,
arching his back and purring loudly; testifying his joy in every way
possible to him.
"Well, well, Beelzebub," said the old man, bending down and stroking
him affectionately, "are you really so glad to see me? Yes, I know you
are, and it pleases me, old fellow, so it does. We are so lonely here, my
poor young master and I, that even the welcome of a dumb beast is not
to be despised. They do say that you have no soul, Beelzebub, but you
certainly do love us, and understand most times what we say to you
too." These greetings exchanged, Beelzebub led the way back to the
fire, and then with beseeching eyes, looking alternately from the face of
his friend to the pot-au-feu, seemed mutely begging for his share of its
contents. Poor Beelzebub was growing so old that he could no longer
catch as many rats and mice as his appetite craved, and he was

evidently very hungry.
Pierre, that was the old servant's name, threw more wood on the
smouldering fire, and then sat down on a settle in the chimney corner,
inviting his companion--who had to wait still for his supper as patiently
as he might--to take a seat beside him. The firelight shone full upon the
old man's honest, weather-beaten face, the few scattered locks of
snow-white hair escaping from under his dark blue woollen cap, his
thick, black eyebrows and deep wrinkles. He had the usual
characteristics of the Basque race; a long face, hooked nose, and dark,
gipsy-like complexion. He wore a sort of livery, which was so old and
threadbare that it would be impossible to make out its original colour,
and his stiff, soldier-like carriage and movements proclaimed that he
had at some time in his life served in a military capacity. "The young
master is late to-night," he muttered to himself, as the daylight faded.
"What possible pleasure can he find in these long, solitary rambles over
the dunes? It is true though that it is so dreary here, in this lonely,
dismal house, that any other place is preferable."
At this moment a joyous barking was heard without, the old pony in the
stable stamped and whinnied, and the cat jumped down