Room in the Dragon Volant | Page 8

theme of interest. But the wonderful eyes, the thrilling voice, the
exquisite figure of the beautiful lady who had taken possession of my
imagination, quickly re-asserted their influence. I was again gazing at
the sympathetic moon, and descending the steps I loitered along the
pavements among strange objects, and houses that were antique and
picturesque, in a dreamy state, thinking.
In a little while I turned into the inn-yard again. There had come a lull.
Instead of the noisy place it was an hour or two before, the yard was
perfectly still and empty, except for the carriages that stood here and
there. Perhaps there was a servants' table-d'hôte just then. I was rather
pleased to find solitude; and undisturbed I found out my lady-love's
carriage, in the moonlight. I mused, I walked round it; I was as utterly
foolish and maudlin as very young men, in my situation, usually are.
The blinds were down, the doors, I suppose, locked. The brilliant
moonlight revealed everything, and cast sharp, black shadows of wheel,
and bar, and spring, on the pavement. I stood before the escutcheon

painted on the door, which I had examined in the daylight. I wondered
how often her eyes had rested on the same object. I pondered in a
charming dream. A harsh, loud voice, over my shoulder, said suddenly:
"A red stork--good! The stork is a bird of prey; it is vigilant, greedy,
and catches gudgeons. Red, too!--blood red! Hal ha! the symbol is
appropriate."
I had turned about, and beheld the palest face I ever saw. It was broad,
ugly, and malignant. The figure was that of a French officer, in undress,
and was six feet high. Across the nose and eyebrow there was a deep
scar, which made the repulsive face grimmer.
The officer elevated his chin and his eyebrows, with a scoffing chuckle,
and said: "I have shot a stork, with a rifle bullet, when he thought
himself safe in the clouds, for mere sport!" (He shrugged, and laughed
malignantly.) "See, Monsieur; when a man like me--a man of energy,
you understand, a man with all his wits about him, a man who has
made the tour of Europe under canvas, and, parbleu! often without it--
resolves to discover a secret, expose a crime, catch a thief, spit a robber
on the point of his sword, it is odd if he does not succeed. Ha! ha! ha!
Adieu, Monsieur!"
He turned with an angry whisk on his heel, and swaggered with long
strides out of the gate.

Chapter V
SUPPER AT THE BELLE ÉTOILE
The French army were in a rather savage temper just then. The English,
especially, had but scant courtesy to expect at their hands. It was plain,
however, that the cadaverous gentleman who had just apostrophized the
heraldry of the Count's carriage, with such mysterious acrimony, had
not intended any of his malevolence for me. He was stung by some old
recollection, and had marched off, seething with fury.

I had received one of those unacknowledged shocks which startle us,
when, fancying ourselves perfectly alone, we discover on a sudden that
our antics have been watched by a spectator, almost at our elbow. In
this case the effect was enhanced by the extreme repulsiveness of the
face, and, I may add, its proximity, for, as I think, it almost touched
mine. The enigmatical harangue of this person, so full of hatred and
implied denunciation, was still in my ears. Here at all events was new
matter for the industrious fancy of a lover to work upon.
It was time now to go to the table-d'hôte. Who could tell what lights the
gossip of the supper-table might throw upon the subject that interested
me so powerfully!
I stepped into the room, my eyes searching the little assembly, about
thirty people, for the persons who specially interested me. It was not
easy to induce people, so hurried and overworked as those of the Belle
Étoile just now, to send meals up to one's private apartments, in the
midst of this unparalleled confusion; and, therefore, many people who
did not like it might find themselves reduced to the alternative of
supping at the table-d'hôte or starving.
The Count was not there, nor his beautiful companion; but the Marquis
d'Harmonville, whom I hardly expected to see in so public a place,
signed, with a significant smile, to a vacant chair beside himself. I
secured it, and he seemed pleased, and almost immediately entered into
conversation with me.
"This is, probably, your first visit to France?" he said.
I told him it was, and he said:
"You must not think me very curious and impertinent; but Paris is
about the most dangerous capital a high-spirited and generous young
gentleman could visit without a Mentor. If you have