Curious, if True Read online

  CURIOUS, IF TRUE

  (EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM RICHARD WHITTINGHAM, ESQ.)

  You were formerly so much amused at my pride in my descent from thatsister of Calvin's, who married a Whittingham, Dean of Durham, that Idoubt if you will be able to enter into the regard for my distinguishedrelation that has led me to France, in order to examine registers andarchives, which, I thought, might enable me to discover collateraldescendants of the great reformer, with whom I might call cousins. Ishall not tell you of my troubles and adventures in this research; youare not worthy to hear of them; but something so curious befell me oneevening last August, that if I had not been perfectly certain I waswide awake, I might have taken it for a dream.

  For the purpose I have named, it was necessary that I should make Toursmy head-quarters for a time. I had traced descendants of the Calvinfamily out of Normandy into the centre of France; but I found it wasnecessary to have a kind of permission from the bishop of the diocesebefore I could see certain family papers, which had fallen into thepossession of the Church; and, as I had several English friends atTours, I awaited the answer to my request to Monseigneur de----, atthat town. I was ready to accept any invitation; but I received veryfew; and was sometimes a little at a loss what to do with my evenings.The _table d'hote_ was at five o'clock; I did not wish to go to theexpense of a private sitting-room, disliked the dinnery atmosphere ofthe _salle a manger_, could not play either at pool or billiards, andthe aspect of my fellow guests was unprepossessing enough to make meunwilling to enter into any _tete-a-tete_ gamblings with them. So Iusually rose from table early, and tried to make the most of theremaining light of the August evenings in walking briskly off toexplore the surrounding country; the middle of the day was too hot forthis purpose, and better employed in lounging on a bench in theBoulevards, lazily listening to the distant band, and noticing withequal laziness the faces and figures of the women who passed by.

  One Thursday evening, the 18th of August it was, I think, I had gonefurther than usual in my walk, and I found that it was later than I hadimagined when I paused to turn back. I fancied I could make a round; Ihad enough notion of the direction in which I was, to see that byturning up a narrow straight lane to my left I should shorten my wayback to Tours. And so I believe I should have done, could I have foundan outlet at the right place, but field-paths are almost unknown inthat part of France, and my lane, stiff and straight as any street, andmarked into terribly vanishing perspective by the regular row ofpoplars on each side, seemed interminable. Of course night came on, andI was in darkness. In England I might have had a chance of seeing alight in some cottage only a field or two off, and asking my way fromthe inhabitants; but here I could see no such welcome sight; indeed, Ibelieve French peasants go to bed with the summer daylight, so if therewere any habitations in the neighbourhood I never saw them. At last--Ibelieve I must have walked two hours in the darkness,--I saw the duskyoutline of a wood on one side of the weariful lane, and, impatientlycareless of all forest laws and penalties for trespassers, I made myway to it, thinking that if the worst came to the worst, I could findsome covert--some shelter where I could lie down and rest, until themorning light gave me a chance of finding my way back to Tours. But theplantation, on the outskirts of what appeared to me a dense wood, wasof young trees, too closely planted to be more than slender stemsgrowing up to a good height, with scanty foliage on their summits. On Iwent towards the thicker forest, and once there I slackened my pace,and began to look about me for a good lair. I was as dainty asLochiel's grandchild, who made his grandsire indignant at the luxury ofhis pillow of snow: this brake was too full of brambles, that felt dampwith dew; there was no hurry, since I had given up all hope of passingthe night between four walls; and I went leisurely groping about, andtrusting that there were no wolves to be poked up out of their summerdrowsiness by my stick, when all at once I saw a chateau before me, nota quarter of a mile off, at the end of what seemed to be an ancientavenue (now overgrown and irregular), which I happened to be crossing,when I looked to my right, and saw the welcome sight. Large, stately,and dark was its outline against the dusky night-sky; there werepepper-boxes and tourelles and what-not fantastically going up into thedim starlight. And more to the purpose still, though I could not seethe details of the building that I was now facing, it was plain enoughthat there were lights in many windows, as if some great entertainmentwas going on.

  'They are hospitable people, at any rate,' thought I. 'Perhaps theywill give me a bed. I don't suppose French proprietaires have traps andhorses quite as plentiful as English gentlemen; but they are evidentlyhaving a large party, and some of their guests may be from Tours, andwill give me a cast back to the Lion d'Or. I am not proud, and I amdog-tired. I am not above hanging on behind, if need be.'

  So, putting a little briskness and spirit into my walk, I went up tothe door, which was standing open, most hospitably, and showing a largelighted hall, all hung round with spoils of the chase, armour, &c., thedetails of which I had not time to notice, for the instant I stood onthe threshold a huge porter appeared, in a strange, old-fashioneddress, a kind of livery which well befitted the general appearance ofthe house. He asked me, in French (so curiously pronounced that Ithought I had hit upon a new kind of patois), my name, and whence Icame. I thought he would not be much the wiser, still it was but civilto give it before I made my request for assistance; so, in reply, Isaid:

  'My name is Whittingham--Richard Whittingham, an English gentleman,staying at ----.' To my infinite surprise, a light of pleasedintelligence came over the giant's face; he made me a low bow, and said(still in the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was longexpected.

  'Long expected!' What could the fellow mean? Had I stumbled on a nestof relations by John Calvin's side, who had heard of my genealogicalinquiries, and were gratified and interested by them? But I was toomuch pleased to be under shelter for the night to think it necessary toaccount for my agreeable reception before I enjoyed it. Just as he wasopening the great heavy _battants_ of the door that led from the hallto the interior, he turned round and said:

  'Apparently Monsieur le Geanquilleur is not come with you.'

  'No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,'--and I was going on with myexplanation, when he, as if quite indifferent to it, led the way up agreat stone staircase, as wide as many rooms, and having on eachlanding-place massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these theporter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age. Indeed, a strange,mysterious awe of the centuries that had passed away since this chateauwas built, came over me as I waited for the turning of the ponderouskeys in the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I heard amighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound of a distant sea,ebbing and flowing for ever and for ever), coming forth from the greatvacant galleries that opened out on each side of the broad staircase,and were to be dimly perceived in the darkness above us. It was as ifthe voices of generations of men yet echoed and eddied in the silentair. It was strange, too, that my friend the porter going before me,ponderously infirm, with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keepthe tall flambeau he held steadily before him,--strange, I say, that hewas the only domestic I saw in the vast halls and passages, or met withon the grand staircase. At length we stood before the gilded doors thatled into the saloon where the family--or it might be the company, sogreat was the buzz of voices--was assembled. I would have remonstratedwhen I found he was going to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, ina morning costume that was not even my best, into this grand _salon_,with nobody knew how many ladies and gentlemen assembled; but theobstinate old man was evidently bent upon taking me straight to hismaster, and paid no heed to my words.

  The doors flew open, and I was ushered into a saloon curiously full ofpale light, which did not culminate on any spot, nor proceed from anycentre, nor flicker with any motion of the air, but filled every nookand corner, making all things deliciously distinct; different from ourlight of gas or candle, as is the difference between a clear southernatmos
phere and that of our misty England.

  At the first moment, my arrival excited no attention, the apartment wasso full of people, all intent on their own conversation. But my friendthe porter went up to a handsome lady of middle age, richly attired inthat antique manner which fashion has brought round again of lateyears, and, waiting first in an attitude of deep respect till herattention fell upon him, told her my name and something about me, asfar as I could guess from the gestures of the one and the sudden glanceof the eye of the other.

  She immediately came towards me with the most friendly actions ofgreeting, even before she had advanced near enough to speak. Then,--andwas it not strange?--her words and accent were that of the commonestpeasant of the country. Yet she herself looked highbred, and would havebeen dignified had she been a shade less restless, had her countenanceworn a little less lively and inquisitive expression. I had been pokinga good deal about the old parts of Tours, and had had to understand thedialect of the people who dwelt in the Marche au Vendredi and similarplaces, or I really should not have understood my handsome hostess, asshe offered to present me to her husband, a henpecked, gentlemanly man,who was more quaintly attired than she in the very extreme of thatstyle of dress. I thought to myself that in France, as in England, itis the provincials who carry fashion to such an excess as to becomeridiculous.

  However, he spoke (still in the _patois_) of his pleasure in making myacquaintance, and led me to a strange uneasy easy-chair, much of apiece with the rest of the furniture, which might have taken its placewithout any anachronism by the side of that in the Hotel Cluny. Thenagain began the clatter of French voices, which my arrival had for aninstant interrupted, and I had leisure to look about me. Opposite to mesat a very sweet-looking lady, who must have been a great beauty in heryouth, I should think, and would be charming in old age, from thesweetness of her countenance. She was, however, extremely fat, and onseeing her feet laid up before her on a cushion, I at once perceivedthat they were so swollen as to render her incapable of walking, whichprobably brought on her excessive _embonpoint_. Her hands were plumpand small, but rather coarse-grained in texture, not quite so clean asthey might have been, and altogether not so aristocratic-looking as thecharming face. Her dress was of superb black velvet, ermine-trimmed,with diamonds thrown all abroad over it.

  Not far from her stood the least little man I had ever seen; of suchadmirable proportions no one could call him a dwarf, because with thatword we usually associate something of deformity; but yet with an elfinlook of shrewd, hard, worldly wisdom in his face that marred theimpression which his delicate regular little features would otherwisehave conveyed. Indeed, I do not think he was quite of equal rank withthe rest of the company, for his dress was inappropriate to theoccasion (and he apparently was an invited, while I was an involuntaryguest); and one or two of his gestures and actions were more like thetricks of an uneducated rustic than anything else. To explain what Imean: his boots had evidently seen much service, and had beenre-topped, re-heeled, re-soled to the extent of cobbler's powers. Whyshould he have come in them if they were not his best--his only pair?And what can be more ungenteel than poverty? Then again he had anuneasy trick of putting his hand up to his throat, as if he expected tofind something the matter with it; and he had the awkward habit--whichI do not think he could have copied from Dr. Johnson, because mostprobably he had never heard of him--of trying always to retrace hissteps on the exact boards on which he had trodden to arrive at anyparticular part of the room. Besides, to settle the question, I onceheard him addressed as Monsieur Poucet, without any aristocratic 'de'for a prefix; and nearly every one else in the room was a marquis, atany rate.

  I say, 'nearly every one;' for some strange people had the entree;unless, indeed, they were, like me, benighted. One of the guests Ishould have taken for a servant, but for the extraordinary influence heseemed to have over the man I took for his master, and who never didanything without, apparently, being urged thereto by this follower. Themaster, magnificently dressed, but ill at ease in his clothes as ifthey had been made for some one else, was a weak-looking, handsome man,continually sauntering about, and I almost guessed an object ofsuspicion to some of the gentlemen present, which, perhaps, drove himon the companionship of his follower, who was dressed something in thestyle of an ambassador's chasseur; yet it was not a chasseur's dressafter all; it was something more thoroughly old-world; boots half wayup his ridiculously small legs, which clattered as he walked along, asif they were too large for his little feet; and a great quantity ofgrey fur, as trimming to coat, court mantle, boots, cap--everything.You know the way in which certain countenances remind you perpetuallyof some animal, be it bird or beast! Well, this chasseur (as I willcall him for want of a better name) was exceedingly like the greatTom-cat that you have seen so often in my chambers, and laughed atalmost as often for his uncanny gravity of demeanour. Grey whiskers hasmy Tom--grey whiskers had the chasseur: grey hair overshadows the upperlip of my Tom--grey mustachios hid that of the chasseur. The pupils ofTom's eyes dilate and contract as I had thought cats' pupils only coulddo, until I saw those of the chasseur. To be sure, canny as Tom is, thechasseur had the advantage in the more intelligent expression. Heseemed to have obtained most complete sway over his master or patron,whose looks he watched, and whose steps he followed, with a kind ofdistrustful interest that puzzled me greatly.

  There were several other groups in the more distant part of the saloon,all of the stately old school, all grand and noble, I conjectured fromtheir bearing. They seemed perfectly well acquainted with each other,as if they were in the habit of meeting. But I was interrupted in myobservations by the tiny little gentleman on the opposite side of theroom coming across to take a place beside me. It is no difficult matterto a Frenchman to slide into conversation, and so gracefully did mypigmy friend keep up the character of the nation, that we were almostconfidential before ten minutes had elapsed.

  Now I was quite aware that the welcome which all had extended to me,from the porter up to the vivacious lady and meek lord of the castle,was intended for some other person. But it required either a degree ofmoral courage, of which I cannot boast, or the self-reliance andconversational powers of a bolder and cleverer man than I, to undeceivepeople who had fallen into so fortunate a mistake for me. Yet thelittle man by my side insinuated himself so much into my confidence,that I had half a mind to tell him of my exact situation, and to turnhim into a friend and an ally.

  'Madame is perceptibly growing older,' said he, in the midst of myperplexity, glancing at our hostess.

  'Madame is still a very fine woman,' replied I.

  'Now, is it not strange,' continued he, lowering his voice, 'how womenalmost invariably praise the absent, or departed, as if they wereangels of light while as for the present, or the living'--here heshrugged up his little shoulders, and made an expressive pause. 'Wouldyou believe it! Madame is always praising her late husband tomonsieur's face; till, in fact, we guests are quite perplexed how tolook: for, you know, the late M. de Retz's character was quitenotorious,--everybody has heard of him.' All the world of Touraine,thought I, but I made an assenting noise.

  At this instant, monsieur our host came up to me, and with a civil lookof tender interest (such as some people put on when they inquire afteryour mother, about whom they do not care one straw), asked if I hadheard lately how my cat was? 'How my cat was!' What could the man mean?My cat! Could he mean the tailless Tom, born in the Isle of Man, andnow supposed to be keeping guard against the incursions of rats andmice into my chambers in London? Tom is, as you know, on pretty goodterms with some of my friends, using their legs for rubbing-postswithout scruple, and highly esteemed by them for his gravity ofdemeanour, and wise manner of winking his eyes. But could his fame havereached across the Channel? However, an answer must be returned to theinquiry, as monsieur's face was bent down to mine with a look of politeanxiety; so I, in my turn, assumed an expression of gratitude, andassured him that, to the best of my belief, my cat was in remarkablygood health.


  'And the climate agrees with her?'

  'Perfectly,' said I, in a maze of wonder at this deep solicitude in atailless cat who had lost one foot and half an ear in some cruel trap.My host smiled a sweet smile, and, addressing a few words to my littleneighbour, passed on.

  'How wearisome those aristocrats are!' quoth my neighbour, with aslight sneer. 'Monsieur's conversation rarely extends to more than twosentences to any one. By that time his faculties are exhausted, and heneeds the refreshment of silence. You and I, monsieur, are, at anyrate, indebted to our own wits for our rise in the world!'

  Here again I was bewildered! As you know, I am rather proud of mydescent from families which, if not noble themselves, are allied tonobility,--and as to my 'rise in the world'--if I had risen, it wouldhave been rather for balloon-like qualities than for mother-wit, tobeing unencumbered with heavy ballast either in my head or my pockets.However, it was my cue to agree: so I smiled again.

  'For my part,' said he, 'if a man does not stick at trifles, if heknows how to judiciously add to, or withhold facts, and is notsentimental in his parade of humanity, he is sure to do well; sure toaffix a _de_ or _von_ to his name, and end his days in comfort. Thereis an example of what I am saying'--and he glanced furtively at theweak-looking master of the sharp, intelligent servant, whom I havecalled the chasseur.

  'Monsieur le Marquis would never have been anything but a miller's son,if it had not been for the talents of his servant. Of course you knowhis antecedents?'

  I was going to make some remarks on the changes in the order of thepeerage since the days of Louis XVI.--going, in fact, to be verysensible and historical--when there was a slight commotion among thepeople at the other end of the room. Lacqueys in quaint liveries musthave come in from behind the tapestry, I suppose (for I never saw thementer, though I sate right opposite to the doors), and were handingabout the slight beverages and slighter viands which are consideredsufficient refreshments, but which looked rather meagre to my hungryappetite. These footmen were standing solemnly opposite to alady,--beautiful, splendid as the dawn, but--sound asleep in amagnificent settee. A gentleman who showed so much irritation at herill-timed slumbers, that I think he must have been her husband, wastrying to awaken her with actions not far removed from shakings. All invain; she was quite unconscious of his annoyance, or the smiles of thecompany, or the automatic solemnity of the waiting footman, or theperplexed anxiety of monsieur and madame.

  My little friend sat down with a sneer, as if his curiosity wasquenched in contempt.

  'Moralists would make an infinity of wise remarks on that scene,' saidhe. 'In the first place, note the ridiculous position into which theirsuperstitious reverence for rank and title puts all these people.Because monsieur is a reigning prince over some minute principality,the exact situation of which no one has as yet discovered, no one mustventure to take their glass of eau sucre till Madame la Princesseawakens; and, judging from past experience, those poor lacqueys mayhave to stand for a century before that happens. Next--always speakingas a moralist, you will observe--note how difficult it is to break offbad habits acquired in youth!'

  Just then the prince succeeded, by what means I did not see, in awakingthe beautiful sleeper. But at first she did not remember where she was,and looking up at her husband with loving eyes, she smiled and said:

  'Is it you, my prince?'

  But he was too conscious of the suppressed amusement of the spectatorsand his own consequent annoyance, to be reciprocally tender, and turnedaway with some little French expression, best rendered into English by'Pooh, pooh, my dear!'

  After I had had a glass of delicious wine of some unknown quality, mycourage was in rather better plight than before, and I told my cynicallittle neighbour--whom I must say I was beginning to dislike--that Ihad lost my way in the wood, and had arrived at the chateau quite bymistake.

  He seemed mightily amused at my story; said that the same thing hadhappened to himself more than once; and told me that I had better luckthan he had on one of these occasions, when, from his account, he musthave been in considerable danger of his life. He ended his story bymaking me admire his boots, which he said he still wore, patched thoughthey were, and all their excellent quality lost by patching, becausethey were of such a first-rate make for long pedestrian excursions.'Though, indeed,' he wound up by saying, 'the new fashion of railroadswould seem to supersede the necessity for this description of boots.'

  When I consulted him as to whether I ought to make myself known to myhost and hostess as a benighted traveller, instead of the guest whomthey had taken me for, he exclaimed, 'By no means! I hate suchsqueamish morality.' And he seemed much offended by my innocentquestion, as if it seemed by implication to condemn something inhimself. He was offended and silent; and just at this moment I caughtthe sweet, attractive eyes of the lady opposite--that lady whom I namedat first as being no longer in the bloom of youth, but as beingsomewhat infirm about the feet, which were supported on a raisedcushion before her. Her looks seemed to say, 'Come here, and let ushave some conversation together;' and, with a bow of silent excuse tomy little companion, I went across to the lame old lady. Sheacknowledged my coming with the prettiest gesture of thanks possible;and, half apologetically, said, 'It is a little dull to be unable tomove about on such evenings as this; but it is a just punishment to mefor my early vanities. My poor feet, that were by nature so small, arenow taking their revenge for my cruelty in forcing them into suchlittle slippers ... Besides, monsieur,' with a pleasant smile, 'Ithought it was possible you might be weary of the malicious sayings ofyour little neighbour. He has not borne the best character in hisyouth, and such men are sure to be cynical in their old age.'

  'Who is he?' asked I, with English abruptness.

  'His name is Poucet, and his father was, I believe, a woodcutter, orcharcoal burner, or something of the sort. They do tell sad stories ofconnivance at murder, ingratitude, and obtaining money on falsepretences--but you will think me as bad as he if I go on with myslanders. Rather let us admire the lovely lady coming up towards us,with the roses in her hand--I never see her without roses, they are soclosely connected with her past history, as you are doubtless aware.Ah, beauty!' said my companion to the lady drawing near to us, 'it islike you to come to me, now that I can no longer go to you.' Thenturning to me, and gracefully drawing me into the conversation, shesaid, 'You must know that, although we never met until we were bothmarried, we have been almost like sisters ever since. There have beenso many points of resemblance in our circumstances, and I think I maysay in our characters. We had each two elder sisters--mine were buthalf-sisters, though--who were not so kind to us as they might havebeen.'

  'But have been sorry for it since,' put in the other lady.

  'Since we have married princes,' continued the same lady, with an archsmile that had nothing of unkindness in it, 'for we both have marriedfar above our original stations in life; we are both unpunctual in ourhabits, and, in consequence of this failing of ours, we have both hadto suffer mortification and pain.'

  'And both are charming,' said a whisper close behind me. 'My lord themarquis, say it--say, "And both are charming."'

  'And both are charming,' was spoken aloud by another voice. I turned,and saw the wily cat-like chasseur, prompting his master to make civilspeeches.

  The ladies bowed with that kind of haughty acknowledgement which showsthat compliments from such a source are distasteful. But our trio ofconversation was broken up, and I was sorry for it. The marquis lookedas if he had been stirred up to make that one speech, and hoped that hewould not be expected to say more; while behind him stood the chasseur,half impertinent and half servile in his ways and attitudes. Theladies, who were real ladies, seemed to be sorry for the awkwardness ofthe marquis, and addressed some trifling questions to him, adaptingthemselves to the subjects on which he could have no trouble inanswering. The chasseur, meanwhile, was talking to himself in agrowling tone of voice. I had fallen a little into the background atthis interruption in a conversa
tion which promised to be so pleasant,and I could not help hearing his words.

  'Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day. I have a great mind tothrow off his boots, and leave him to his fate. I was intended for acourt, and to a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I have madehis. The emperor will appreciate my talents.'

  And such are the habits of the French, or such his forgetfulness ofgood manners in his anger, that he spat right and left on theparquetted floor.

  Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man, came towards the twoladies to whom I had lately been speaking, leading up to them adelicate, fair woman, dressed all in the softest white, as if she were_vouee au blanc_. I do not think there was a bit of colour about her. Ithought I heard her making, as she came along, a little noise ofpleasure, not exactly like the singing of a tea-kettle, nor yet likethe cooing of a dove, but reminding me of each sound.

  'Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you,' said he, addressing thelady with the roses, 'so I have brought her across to give you apleasure!' What an honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I likedhis ugliness better than most persons' beauty. There was a look ofpathetic acknowledgement of his ugliness, and a deprecation of your toohasty judgement, in his countenance that was positively winning. Thesoft, white lady kept glancing at my neighbour the chasseur, as if theyhad had some former acquaintance, which puzzled me very much, as theywere of such different rank. However, their nerves were evidentlystrung to the same tune, for at a sound behind the tapestry, which wasmore like the scuttering of rats and mice than anything else, bothMadame de Mioumiou and the chasseur started with the most eager look ofanxiety on their countenances, and by their restless movements--madame'spanting, and the fiery dilation of his eyes--one might see thatcommonplace sounds affected them both in a manner very different to therest of the company. The ugly husband of the lovely lady with the rosesnow addressed himself to me.

  'We are much disappointed,' he said, 'in finding that monsieur is notaccompanied by his countryman--le grand Jean d'Angleterre; I cannotpronounce his name rightly'--and he looked at me to help him out.

  'Le grand Jean d'Angleterre!' now who was le grand Jean d'Angleterre?John Bull? John Russell? John Bright?

  'Jean--Jean'--continued the gentleman, seeing my embarrassment. 'Ah,these terrible English names--"Jean de Geanquilleur!"'

  I was as wise as ever. And yet the name struck me as familiar, butslightly disguised. I repeated it to myself. It was mighty like Johnthe Giant-killer, only his friends always call that worthy 'Jack'. Isaid the name aloud.

  'Ah, that is it!' said he. 'But why has he not accompanied you to ourlittle reunion to-night?'

  I had been rather puzzled once or twice before, but this seriousquestion added considerably to my perplexity. Jack the Giant-killer hadonce, it is true, been rather an intimate friend of mine, as far as(printer's) ink and paper can keep up a friendship, but I had not heardhis name mentioned for years; and for aught I knew he lay enchantedwith King Arthur's knights, who lie entranced until the blast of thetrumpets of four mighty kings shall call them to help at England'sneed. But the question had been asked in serious earnest by thatgentleman, whom I more wished to think well of me than I did any otherperson in the room. So I answered respectfully that it was long since Ihad heard anything of my countryman; but that I was sure it would havegiven him as much pleasure as it was doing myself to have been presentat such an agreeable gathering of friends. He bowed, and then the lamelady took up the word.

  'To-night is the night when, of all the year, this great old forestsurrounding the castle is said to be haunted by the phantom of a littlepeasant girl who once lived hereabouts; the tradition is that she wasdevoured by a wolf. In former days I have seen her on this night out ofyonder window at the end of the gallery. Will you, ma belle, takemonsieur to see the view outside by the moonlight (you may possibly seethe phantom-child); and leave me to a little _tete-a-tete_ with yourhusband?'

  With a gentle movement the lady with the roses complied with theother's request, and we went to a great window, looking down on theforest, in which I had lost my way. The tops of the far-spreading andleafy trees lay motionless beneath us in the pale, wan light, whichshows objects almost as distinct in form, though not in colour, as byday. We looked down on the countless avenues, which seemed to convergefrom all quarters to the great old castle; and suddenly across one,quite near to us, there passed the figure of a little girl, with the'capuchon' on, that takes the place of a peasant girl's bonnet inFrance. She had a basket on one arm, and by her, on the side to whichher head was turned, there went a wolf. I could almost have said it waslicking her hand, as if in penitent love, if either penitence or lovehad ever been a quality of wolves,--but though not of living, perhapsit may be of phantom wolves.

  'There, we have seen her!' exclaimed my beautiful companion. 'Though solong dead, her simple story of household goodness and trustfulsimplicity still lingers in the hearts of all who have ever heard ofher; and the country-people about here say that seeing thatphantom-child on this anniversary brings good luck for the year. Let ushope that we shall share in the traditionary good fortune. Ah! here isMadame de Retz--she retains the name of her first husband, you know, ashe was of higher rank than the present.' We were joined by our hostess.

  'If monsieur is fond of the beauties of nature and art,' said she,perceiving that I had been looking at the view from the great window,'he will perhaps take pleasure in seeing the picture.' Here she sighed,with a little affectation of grief. 'You know the picture I allude to,'addressing my companion, who bowed assent, and smiled a littlemaliciously, as I followed the lead of madame.

  I went after her to the other end of the saloon, noting by the way withwhat keen curiosity she caught up what was passing either in word oraction on each side of her. When we stood opposite to the end wall, Iperceived a full-length picture of a handsome, peculiar-looking man,with--in spite of his good looks--a very fierce and scowlingexpression. My hostess clasped her hands together as her arms hung downin front, and sighed once more. Then, half in soliloquy, she said:

  'He was the love of my youth; his stern yet manly character firsttouched this heart of mine. When--when shall I cease to deplore hisloss!'

  Not being acquainted with her enough to answer this question (if,indeed, it were not sufficiently answered by the fact of her secondmarriage), I felt awkward; and, by way of saying something, I remarked:

  'The countenance strikes me as resembling something I have seenbefore--in an engraving from an historical picture, I think; only, itis there the principal figure in a group: he is holding a lady by herhair, and threatening her with his scimitar, while two cavaliers arerushing up the stairs, apparently only just in time to save her life.'

  'Alas, alas!' said she, 'you too accurately describe a miserablepassage in my life, which has often been represented in a false light.The best of husbands'--here she sobbed, and became slightlyinarticulate with her grief--'will sometimes be displeased. I was youngand curious, he was justly angry with my disobedience--my brothers weretoo hasty--the consequence is, I became a widow!'

  After due respect for her tears, I ventured to suggest some commonplaceconsolation. She turned round sharply:--

  'No, monsieur: my only comfort is that I have never forgiven thebrothers who interfered so cruelly, in such an uncalled-for manner,between my dear husband and myself. To quote my friend MonsieurSganarelle--"Ce sont petites choses qui sont de temps en tempsnecessaires dans l'amitie; et cinq ou six coups d'epee entre gens quis'aiment ne font que ragaillardir l'affection." You observe thecolouring is not quite what it should be?'

  'In this light the beard is of rather a peculiar tint,' said I.

  'Yes: the painter did not do it justice. It was most lovely, and gavehim such a distinguished air, quite different from the common herd.Stay, I will show you the exact colour, if you will come near thisflambeau!' And going near the light, she took off a bracelet of hair,with a magnificent clasp of pearls. It was peculiar, certainly. I didnot know wh
at to say. 'His precious lovely beard!' said she. 'And thepearls go so well with the delicate blue!'

  Her husband, who had come up to us, and waited till her eye fell uponhim before venturing to speak, now said, 'It is strange Monsieur Ogreis not yet arrived!'

  'Not at all strange,' said she, tartly. 'He was always very stupid, andconstantly falls into mistakes, in which he comes worse off; and it isvery well he does, for he is credulous and cowardly fellow. Not at allstrange! If you will'--turning to her husband, so that I hardly heardher words, until I caught--'Then everybody would have their rights, andwe should have no more trouble. Is it not, monsieur?' addressing me.

  'If I were in England, I should imagine madame was speaking of thereform bill, or the millennium,--but I am in ignorance.'

  And just as I spoke, the great folding-doors were thrown open wide, andevery one started to their feet to greet a little old lady, leaning ona thin black wand--and--

  'Madame la Feemarraine,' was announced by a chorus of sweet shrillvoices.

  And in a moment I was lying in the grass close by a hollow oak-tree,with the slanting glory of the dawning day shining full in my face, andthousands of little birds and delicate insects piping and warbling outtheir welcome to the ruddy splendour.