The old man who had so terrified Marie Antoinette, followed her with piteous entreaties, until she reached the private door, which had been carefully left open for her. He even tried to enter by the same passage, but she had drawn the bolt inside; and he turned from it in meek despair, muttering to himself and smoothing his silvery beard in the moonlight. Another man would have gone home, perhaps, spending the whole of that beautiful night on his way to Paris; this weary pilgrim had lost all ideas of home that were not connected with his cell in the Bastille, which now lay a heap of ruins in the heart of the city. During the days in which he had been at liberty, this broken being had refused to take up his old habits of civilization; his limbs had never pressed a bed; and his food was always the same, a crust of black bread and a cup of water. The free air of a bright day oppressed him; but when the clouds lowered, and the rain fell, a sense of enjoyment awoke in his bosom, and he was sure to wander into the streets, and search with mournful fascination for the ruins of his old prison. A bright sunshine, and even moonlight, clear and broad as that which lay around him, oppressed and bewildered this poor wanderer, who had spent nearly half his life in utter darkness. Below the palace was a thickly-wooded path, filled with shadows, through which he could, from time to time, see the sparkle of waters leaping up to meet the moonlight. As I have said, imprisonment had made darkness a second nature to this man; so he stole away from the soft radiance that fell around him, and went into the deep shadows. Here the moist atmosphere, to which all his frame had become habituated, cooled the fever in his veins, and the soft tinkle of falling waters lulled him back into the dull monotony of his prison days. He sat down at the foot of a tree, where the earth was cushioned all over with emerald-green moss, and leaning his head against it, grew tranquil under the languid sense of solitude that crept over him. To be alone was now the great luxury of his life, as it had formerly been its punishment. As the old man rested against his pillow of rugged bark, a shadow broke the moonlight that quivered on the edge of the path, and the footsteps of a man coming down the broad avenue leading that way startled him. With a thrill of fear he drew closer to the tree that sheltered him, and waited for the man to pass; but the path that led close to him was darkened, and after a minute or two a gentleman stood within three paces of his retreat. The old man could see enough of the face to read it clearly, for a break in the tangled boughs overhead let in a stream of radiance, which the surrounding darkness increased, and this lay full upon the intruder.