Here then, in this place of pleasant associations, I--who had arrived in Paris but the night before--found myself alone, wandering in ignorance of the way, at midnight--I, a Scot and stranger, with my whole worldly possessions about me, to wit, ten of those gay louis d'ors (first coined by Louis XIII.), a good suit of black velvet, a fair cloak of serge de Berri, worth about ten pistoles; but having a good sword, that had notched more than one crown in its time, with a pair of steel Scottish pistols in my girdle engraved with my coat of arms and the significant legend, "He who gives _quickly_, gives _twice_." Moreover I was only twenty years of age--active, determined even to recklessness, and at all times master of my weapons, if not of my temper. In a secret pocket of my doublet, I carried a letter of recommendation from Esme Stuart, who was Lord of Aubigne, Duke of Lennox, Lord High Admiral and Great Chamberlain of Scotland, to Madame Clara, the mistress of Louis XIII., who had created her Comtesse d'Amboise. In wit and beauty she was the rival of Ninon de l'Enclos, and the superior of the lovely Marion de l'Orme, being one of those bold, artful, and beautiful women who in all ages have entangled the politics and swayed the destinies of France; and on this missive from the duke, who had known Madame Clara in her girlish days, when she was a dame d'honneur, and he a gay captain of the Scottish archers--and had known her more intimately, perhaps, than the most Christian king could have relished--all my hope of success in the French service depended; for by the ruin and misfortunes which their own patriotism had brought upon my family, I was landless, homeless, all but penniless and an outcast from my country--a country where it is ever the doom and curse of patriotism and purity of spirit to be stifled and crushed under the heels of envy, calumny, avarice, and sectarianism. The last note of the vast bell of Notre Dame de Paris, had pealed away over the darkened city, when I paused and looked about me. The ends of the streets and alleys were closed by iron chains, over which I had fallen more than once. None of the city watch were visible, and save myself no one seemed abroad, for I heard no sound save the mournful creaking of the oil lamps, which swung, few and far between, in the centre of the way, or the murmur of the river as it chafed against the wooden abutments of the quay and poured through the arches of the Pont de Notre Dame.