Colonel Raynal nodded assent. Edouard took a run, and lighted like a monkey on the horse’s crupper. He pranced and kicked at this unexpected addition; but the spur being promptly applied to his flanks, he bounded off with a snort that betrayed more astonishment than satisfaction, and away they cantered to Beaurepaire, without drawing rein.
“There,” said Edouard, “I was afraid they would be gone to bed; and they are. The very house seems asleep—fancy—at half-past ten.”
“That is a pity,” said Raynal, “for this chateau is the stronghold of etiquette. They will be two hours dressing before they will come out and shake hands. I must put my horse into the stable. Go you and give the alarm.”
“I will, colonel. Stop, first let me see whether none of them are up, after all.”
And Edouard walked round the chateau, and soon discovered a light at one window, the window of the tapestried room. Running round the other way he came slap upon another light: this one was nearer the ground. A narrow but massive door, which he had always seen not only locked but screwed up, was wide open; and through the aperture the light of a candle streamed out and met the moonlight streaming in.
“Hallo!” cried Edouard.
He stopped, turned, and looked in.
“Hallo!” he cried again much louder.
A young woman was sleeping with her feet in the silvery moonlight, and her head in the orange-colored blaze of a flat candle, which rested on the next step above of a fine stone staircase, whose existence was now first revealed to the inquisitive Edouard.
Coming plump upon all this so unexpectedly, he quite started.