France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
It was the astrologer's custom to lock up the large room next the Rue
Touchet when he went out. For this reason, and because the place was
forbidden, the boy lingered at the Judas-hole, gazing into it. He knew
by this time most of the queer things it contained, and the red glow
of the furnace fire gave it, to his mind, a weird kind of comfort. He
listened to the ashes falling, and the ticking of some clockwork at
the farther end. He began idly to enumerate all the things he could
see; but the curtain which shut off the laboratory proper threw a
great shadow across the room, and this he strove in vain to pierce. To
see the better, he put out his light and looked again. He had scarcely
brought his eyes back to the slit, however, when a low grating noise
caught his ear. He started and held his breath, but before he could
stir a finger the heavy door which communicated with the Rue Touchet
slowly opened a foot or two, and the astrologer came in.
For a few seconds the boy remained gazing, afraid to breathe or move.
Then, with an effort, he dropped the cloth over the slit, and crept
softly away.
CHAPTER V.
THE UPPER PORTAL.
The astrologer was not alone. A tall figure, cloaked and muffled to
the chin, entered after him, and stood waiting at his elbow while he
secured the fastenings of the door. Apparently, they had only met on
the threshold, for the stranger, after looking round him and silently
noting the fantastic disorder of the room, said, in a hoarse voice,
"You do not know me?"
"Perfectly, M. de Vidoche," the astrologer answered, removing his hat.
"Did you know I was following you?"
"I came to show you the way."
"That is a lie, at any rate!" the young noble retorted, with a sneer,
"for I did not know I was coming myself."
"Until you saw me," the astrologer answered, unmoved. "Will you not
take off your cloak? You will need it when you leave."
M. de Vidoche complied with an ill grace. "The usual stock-in-trade, I
see," he muttered, looking round him scornfully. "Skulls and bones,
and dead hands and gibbet-ropes. Faugh! The place smells. I suppose
these are the things you keep to frighten children."
"Some," Nôtredame answered calmly--he was busy lighting a lamp--"and
some are for sale."
"For sale?" M. de Vidoche cried incredulously. "Who will buy them?"
"Some one thing, and some another," the astrologer answered
carelessly. "Take this, for instance," he continued, turning to his
visitor, and looking at him for the first time. "I expect to find a
customer for _that_ very shortly."
M. de Vidoche followed the direction of his finger, and shuddered,
despite himself. "That" was a coffin. "Enough of this," he said, with
savage impatience. "Suppose you get off your high horse, and come to
business. Can I sit, man, or are you going to keep me standing all
night?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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