The Room in the Dragon VolantLe Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
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The Room in the Dragon Volant
Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
British -- France -- Paris -- Fiction; France -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Horror tales
The silent, moonlighted, solitary road, how it contrasted with the
many-eddied whirl of pleasure from whose roar and music, lights,
diamonds and colors I had just extricated myself.
The sight of lonely nature at such an hour, acts like a sudden sedative.
The madness and guilt of my pursuit struck me with a momentary
compunction and horror. I wished I had never entered the labyrinth which
was leading me, I knew not whither. It was too late to think of that
now; but the bitter was already stealing into my cup; and vague
anticipations lay, for a few minutes, heavy on my heart. It would not
have taken much to make me disclose my unmanly state of mind to my
lively friend Alfred Ogle, nor even to the milder ridicule of the
agreeable Tom Whistlewick.
Chapter XVI
THE PARC OF THE CHÂTEAU DE LA CARQUE
There was no danger of the Dragon Volant's closing its doors on that
occasion till three or four in the morning. There were quartered there
many servants of great people, whose masters would not leave the ball
till the last moment, and who could not return to their corners in the
Dragon Volant till their last services had been rendered.
I knew, therefore, I should have ample time for my mysterious excursion
without exciting curiosity by being shut out.
And now we pulled up under the canopy of boughs, before the sign of the
Dragon Volant, and the light that shone from its hall-door.
I dismissed my carriage, ran up the broad stair-case, mask in hand, with
my domino fluttering about me, and entered the large bedroom. The black
wainscoting and stately furniture, with the dark curtains of the very
tall bed, made the night there more somber.
An oblique patch of moonlight was thrown upon the floor from the window
to which I hastened. I looked out upon the landscape slumbering in those
silvery beams. There stood the outline of the Château de la Carque, its
chimneys and many turrets with their extinguisher-shaped roofs black
against the soft grey sky. There, also, more in the foreground, about
midway between the window where I stood and the château, but a little to
the left, I traced the tufted masses of the grove which the lady in the
mask had appointed as the trysting-place, where I and the beautiful
Countess were to meet that night.
I took "the bearings" of this gloomy bit of wood, whose foliage
glimmered softly at top in the light of the moon.
You may guess with what a strange interest and swelling of the heart I
gazed on the unknown scene of my coming adventure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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