‘They will murder me!’ she cried. ‘Help! this instant, or it will be too late. There are but two, and——’
Lachaussée placed his hand over her mouth and stopped her cries. And then, assisted by Bras d’Acier, he hurried her into a smaller carrière leading from the great one by a rude archway, which could be closed after a manner, like the door, by a large curtain of rude sackcloth. It was a vault hewn out similarly to the other, with a rough attempt to form a gothic roof and buttresses from the limestone. But there were horrid features in the apartment which made Louise shudder as she looked timidly round. A dull and smoking lamp was here also suspended from the ceiling, and by its light could be seen coffins in every direction round the walls; some with their feet projecting some inches beyond them; others lying sideways, such as we see bounding the grave of a crowded burying-ground. In many instances they were open, but no remains were visible. Their cases appeared to have been appropriated to use as cupboards, in which articles of various kinds were stored. In one corner were a few skulls and bones thrown carelessly together; the number was insignificant, and they were not ranged in the order of the existing catacombs. As we have stated, the carrières were at that time the mere result of excavations for building stone; it was not until more than a century after the date of our story that the health of the city demanded the removal of the foul and reeking burial-ground attached to the Église des Innocens, at the corner of the Rue St. Denis and the Rue aux Fers, near the present market, with whose beautiful fountain every visitor to Paris is familiar.[3]
In one corner of this ghastly chamber was a large font filled with water, which distilled drop by drop from the stalactites that overhung it, and the reflection of the lamp quivered on its dark surface. It ran over at one corner, and small channels hewn in the floor conveyed it away to carrières still deeper.
‘Another word,’ said Lachaussée, ‘and we leave you to your own company in this dreary place.’
‘I ask no more,’ replied Louise, recoiling from him as he relaxed his hold. ‘Let me be anywhere, so long as I am alone, and away from those fearful people.’
‘I am sorry you do not like them,’ said Bras d’Acier; ‘the more so as you will perhaps have to pass a little time amongst us. Only it would not have answered to have taken you from the sanctuary before them. They are particular in matters of religion.’
And he accompanied these last words with a horrid laugh.
‘Do not take me among them again, M. Lachaussée,’ said Louise, ‘I implore you. Let me remain here rather, even in this dismal vault.’
‘Pshaw!’ cried Lachaussée; ‘you know not where you are. Look at those coffins—they have long since been despoiled of their festering contents to hold Bras d’Acier’s riches. You are below the cemetery of St. Medard, hemmed in on all sides by corpses, the accumulation of centuries. Would you like this for a companion?’
He stooped to pick up a skull, and held it in mockery over the flame of the lamp, which hideously illuminated it. Then, tossing it back to the corner of the chamber, he went on—