"_Garçon_" said the officer, for the first time, speaking in a low tone over the back of his chair to the waiter; "who came in that travelling carriage, dark yellow and black, that stands in the middle of the yard, with arms and supporters emblazoned on the door, and a red stork, as red as my facings?" The waiter could not say. The eye of the eccentric officer, who had suddenly grown grim and serious, and seemed to have abandoned the general conversation to other people, lighted, as it were, accidentally, on me. "Pardon me, Monsieur," he said. "Did I not see you examining the panel of that carriage at the same time that I did so, this evening? Can you tell me who arrived in it?" "I rather think the Count and Countess de St. Alyre." "And are they here, in the Belle Etoile?" he asked. "They have got apartments upstairs," I answered. He started up, and half pushed his chair from the table. He quickly sat down again, and I could hear him _sacré_-ing and muttering to himself, and grinning and scowling. I could not tell whether he was alarmed or furious. I turned to say a word or two to the Marquis, but he was gone. Several other people had dropped out also, and the supper party soon broke up. Two or three substantial pieces of wood smouldered on the hearth, for the night had turned out chilly. I sat down by the fire in a great arm-chair, of carved oak, with a marvellously high back, that looked as old as the days of Henry IV. "_Garçon_," said I, "do you happen to know who that officer is?" "That is Colonel Gaillarde, Monsieur." "Has he been often here?" "Once before, Monsieur, for a week; it is a year since." "He is the palest man I ever saw." "That is true, Monsieur; he has been often taken for a _revenant_." "Can you give me a bottle of really good Burgundy?" "The best in France, Monsieur." "Place it, and a glass by my side, on this table, if you please. I may sit here for half an hour?" "Certainly, Monsieur." I was very comfortable, the wine excellent, and my thoughts glowing and serene. "Beautiful Countess! Beautiful Countess! shall we ever be better acquainted." CHAPTER VI. THE NAKED SWORD. A man who has been posting all day long, and changing the air he breathes every half hour, who is well pleased with himself, and has nothing on earth to trouble him, and who sits alone by a fire in a comfortable chair after having eaten a hearty supper, may be pardoned if he takes an accidental nap. I had filled my fourth glass when I fell asleep. My head, I daresay, hung uncomfortably; and it is admitted, that a variety of French dishes is not the most favourable precursor to pleasant dreams.