France -- History -- Louis XVI, 1774-1793 -- Fiction
"From the miscreants it has smelled out," answered the old man grimly,
but obeyed; stood as if engrossed in the recollections his own response
evoked; then turned; walked on, and, a few moments later, his call,
suddenly remembered, rang, belated, in the drowsy air: "Twelve o'clock
and all's well! A new day, and St. Aubert guard us all!"
"A sword and a blade;
A drab and a jade--"
The words, scarcely begun, above his breath, died away on the seeming
soldier's lips, as the watcher on the bridge, looking down to follow
first the departing figure of the old custodian, crossed quickly to the
opposite window, and, from this point of vantage, gazed up after the
young man rapidly vanishing in the track of the moonlight. A moment
the onlooker stood motionless; then, ere the figure, so vividly defined
in shine and shimmer, had reached the top of the stairway, made an
abrupt movement and swiftly left the window and the passage.
At the head of the steps, which without further incident or
interruption, he reached, the Black Seigneur, stepping to the shadow of
a small bush against the wall, glanced about him; with knit brows and
the resolute manner of one who has come to some definite conclusion, he
left the spot for observation, almost the apex of the Mount, and
plunged diverging to the right. From glint and shimmer to darkness
unfathomable! For some time he could only grope and feel his way,
after the fashion of the blind; fortunately, however, was the path
narrow; although tortuous, fairly well paved, and no serious mishap
befell him, even when he walked forward regardlessly, in feverish
haste, beset with the conviction that time meant all in all, and delay
the closing of the toils and the failure of a desperate adventure.
Several times he struck against the stones; once fell hard, but picked
himself up; went on the faster, only, after what seemed an interminable
period, to stop.
"Am I, can I be mistaken?"
But the single star he could see plainest from the bottom of the deep
alley, and to which he looked up, answered not the fierce,
half-muttered question; coldly, enigmatically it twinkled, and, half
running, he continued his way, to emerge over-suddenly into a cooler
well of air, and--what was more to be welcomed!--an outlook whereof the
details were in a measure dimly shadowed forth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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