"But I cannot, let you go until you have appointed some time; will you say the day after to-morrow at the same hour as before?"
"Perhaps—but no, no—not again—I am sufficiently wretched already;" and with these words the garden gate shut M. de Brévannes out from all further communication with the mulatto. M. de Brévannes accordingly returned homewards, inexpressibly delighted with the result of his first interview with Iris, who, on her side not less satisfied with her recent meeting, hastened to Madame de Hansfeld, to whom she related every word that had transpired, reserving, however, certain details for the better furtherance of a diabolical project which had recently sprang up within her breast.
CHAPTER XXII
[THE MEETING]
A few days after the meeting we have recorded between Iris and M. de Brévannes, just as the hour of four o'clock sounded forth from the church of Saint Louis, a fog, rendered more intense by the proximity of the two arms of the Seine which surround the Ile Saint Louis, spread itself over this unfrequented spot.
To about the height of the ancient Hôtel de Brétonvilliers, then being pulled down, the Quai d'Orleans, as yet unprotected by a parapet, formed a steep mound which bordered the river on this side.
An individual, wrapped in a cloak, was slowly pacing along this ledge, stopping occasionally to observe the rapid current of the Seine, now swollen by the rains of winter. The wild and lonely spot was buried in its accustomed gloom and silence, while the rapidly increasing mist entirely concealed the opposite banks of the river, and, half veiling the dilapidated walls of the Hôtel de Brétonvilliers, communicated to them an almost grand and sublime aspect—the lofty walls, partly destroyed, with the occasional gaps left by the places which had once contained the arched windows, casting their dark time-coloured masses in bold relief against the grey sky, imparted almost the appearance of vast and imposing antique ruins.
The person we have mentioned seemed to find a melancholy pleasure in contemplating this solitary spot, as, with head bent forwards on his breast, he continued to walk up and down the mound, pausing, from time to time, to listen to the rush of waters, or to follow, with fixed gaze, the rapid flow of the current, as it pursued its boiling course.
His reveries were suddenly interrupted by the sound of approaching steps; he looked up and beheld advancing towards him a man of more than the usual height, with a long white beard, and who, although walking with a firm step, kept occasionally sounding the road with his stick as though to satisfy himself as to the safety of the path he trod.
The fog had by this time become very dense, and the old man (in whom the reader will doubtless have recognised Pierre Raimond), whose sight was feeble and uncertain, instead of following the direction of the Quai, had considerably deviated to the right, and advanced close upon the personage in the mantle ere he was aware of his vicinity, while the latter, standing on the edge of the mound, by a natural impulse, drew aside to allow the new comer to pass.