So another twenty-four hours went by, and my impatience was almost
beginning to wear itself out, when at last, about five o'clock in the
afternoon of the third day, it being already quite dark, there came a
sudden clanging of the gates, followed by a rattle of wheels in the
courtyard, and a hurrying to and fro of feet upon the stairs.
Then, listening with a beating heart, but seeing nothing, I knew that he
was come.
I had to sleep that night with my curiosity ungratified; for my father had
hurried away at the first sounds from without, nor came back till long
after I had been carried off to bed by my Rhenish handmaiden.
3
He was neither old nor white-haired. He was, as well as I, in my childish
way could judge, about thirty-five years of age, pale, slight, dark-eyed,
delicate-looking. His chains did not rattle as he walked, for the simple
reason that, being a prisoner on parole, he suffered no kind of restraint,
but was as free as myself of the Chateau and grounds. He wore his hair
long, tied behind with a narrow black ribbon, and very slightly powdered;
and he dressed always in deep mourning--black, all black, from head to
foot, even to his shoe-buckles. He was a Frenchman, and he went by the name
of Monsieur Maurice.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25