France -- History -- Louis XVI, 1774-1793 -- Fiction
Boldly, a little uncertainly, as the soldier had walked, the
mountebank, now, to all appearance, a man of the ranks in the service
of his Excellency, the Governor, strode down the wide, stone-paved way
separating the outhouses and a number of desultory ancient structures
from the officers' quarters, hard against the ramparts. In the sky's
dome the stars still shone, although a small mottled patch of cloud
obscured the moon; on either side no lights appeared in windows, and
friendly shadows favored him, until he approached at the end of the way
the broad, open entrance between the soldiers' barracks and the
officers' row. There, set in the stone above the key of the time-worn
arch, flared a smoky lamp, dimly revealing the surrounding details; but
the young man did not stop; had drawn quite close to the medieval
structure, when unexpectedly another tread, on the soldiers' side of
the entrance, mingled with his own; rang for a moment in unison; then
jingled out of time. He who approached came to a sudden standstill;
cast a quick glance over his shoulder, only to be brought to an abrupt
realization that it was now too late to retreat. A black silhouette,
suddenly precipitated across the pavement, preceded a dark figure that
stepped quickly out and barred the way, while at the same time, a
voice, loud and incisive, challenged.
CHAPTER XXI
THE STAIRWAY OF SILVER
The stillness of the moment that followed was tense; then thickly the
young man answered something irrelevant about a clown, a bottle and a
loaf; with cap drawn down and half-averted face, he lurched a little
forward in the darkness, and the sentinel's weapon fell. "Oh, that's
you, is it, Henri?" he said in a different tone, stepping back. "How
did you leave the fellow?"
"Eating the bread and calling for more!" As he spoke, the other
stopped, swaying uncertainly; above the arch, the wick, ill-trimmed,
brightened and darkened to the drafts of air through break and slit of
the old lamp; and briefly he awaited a favorable moment, when the flame
blew out until almost extinguished; then with hand near sword-hilt,
somewhat over-briskly, but in keeping with the part, he stepped toward
the arch; through it, and quickly past the sentinel.
"You seem to have been feasting and drinking a little yourself,
to-night, comrade?" called out the latter after him. "I noticed it
when you went in, and-- But aren't you taking the wrong way?" As the
other, after starting toward the barracks, straightened, and then
abruptly wheeled into the road, running up the Mount.
"Bah!" A moment the young man paused. "Can't a soldier," articulating
with difficulty, "go to see his sweetheart without--"
"_Eh bien_!" The sentinel shrugged his shoulders. "It isn't my
business. I think, though, I know where they'll put you to-morrow,
when they find out through the guard at the barracks."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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