"Enough, enough," said Ottmar. "Sylvester is so inspired by his success that he is favouring us with a scene of a comedy instead of--like a proper Serapion Brother--reading us a tale, the most interesting subject of which he told me of, in writing, and which I know he has finished and brought with him."
"Our having been talking of Voltaire," said Sylvester, "may lead us to think of his 'Siècle de Louis XIV.,' and of that period itself, in which I have laid the scenes of the story which I now venture, with all modesty, to submit, hoping for your favourable opinion."
He read:--
[MADEMOISELLE SCUDERI]:
A Tale Of The Times Of Louis The Fourteenth.
Magdaleine Scuderi, so famous for her charming poetical and other writings, lived in a small mansion in the Rue St. Honoré, by favour of Louis the 14th and Madame Maintenon.
Late one night--about midnight--in the autumn of the year 1680, there came a knocking at the door of this house, so loud and violent that it shook the very ground. Baptiste, who filled the offices of cook, butler, and doorkeeper in the lady's modest establishment, had gone, by her leave, to the country to his sister's wedding, so that La Martinière, the femme de chambre, was the only person still awake in the house. She heard this knocking, which went on without ceasing almost, and she remembered that, as Baptiste was away, she and her mistress were alone and unprotected. She thought of the housebreakings, robberies, and murders which were so frequent in Paris at that time, and felt convinced that some of the numerous bands of malefactors, knowing the defenceless state of the house that night, were raising this alarum at the door, and would commit some outrage if it was opened; so she remained in her room, trembling and terrified, anathematizing Baptiste, and his sister's marriage into the bargain.
Meantime the thundering knocking went on at the door, and she thought she heard a voice calling in the intervals, "Open, for the love of Christ! Open!--open!" At last, her alarm increasing, she took her candle and ran out on to the landing, where she distinctly heard the voice crying, "Open the door, for the love of Christ!"
"After all," she said to herself, "one knows that a robber would not be crying out in that way. Perhaps it is somebody who is being pursued and is come to my lady for refuge. She is known to be always ready to do a kind action--but we must be very careful!"
She opened a window, and called down into the street, asking who it was who was making such a tremendous thundering at the door at that time of the night, rousing everybody from their sleep. This she did in a voice which she tried to make as like a man's as she could. By the glimmer of the moon, which was beginning to break through dark clouds, she could make out a tall figure, in a long grey cloak, with a broad hat drawn down over the forehead. Then she cried, in a loud voice, so that this person in the street should hear, "Baptiste! Claude! Pierre! Get up, and see who this rascal is who is trying to get in at this time of night." But a gentle, entreating voice spake from beneath, saying, "Ah, La Martinière, I know it is you, you kind soul, though you are trying to alter your voice; and I know well enough that Baptiste is away in the country, and that there is nobody in the house but your mistress and yourself. Let me in. I must speak with your lady this instant."