As soon as the long hand upon the dial pointed towards the Roman capitals IX. and the shorter one to VII. the two ladies set out in the same guise, and on the same route, as in the morning, with only this difference in their proceedings, that the old domestic of the Queen, who had accompanied them to Paris, received orders to follow at a few paces distance, well armed with sword and pistol.
It was now quite dark, and the streets not being so crowded as when she before passed through them, Pauline proceeded more calmly, except when the torch-bearers of some of the gay world of Paris flashed their flambeaux in her eyes as they lighted their lords along to party or spectacle. At the Church of St. Gervais she again left Mademoiselle de Hauteford with the servant; and now, well acquainted with the way, ran lightly along till she arrived at the Bastille, where, not giving her resolution time to fail, she passed the drawbridge, and entered the outer gate, which was at that moment open. Before her stood the figure of the Porter, enjoying the cool evening air that blew through the open gate into the court. His hand rested upon the edge of the door, and the moment Pauline entered, he pushed it to with a clang that made her heart sink.
“Whom have we here,” said he, “that comes in so boldly? Oh, so! is it you, ma belle demoiselle?” he continued, as the light of the lanterns which hung under the arch fell upon her countenance:—“well, you shall see your father now. But first, I think, you had better go and speak to the Governor; he is a man of taste, and would like such a pretty prisoner, no doubt; perhaps he might find a warrant for your detention.”
Pauline’s heart sank at the idea of being carried before the Governor, well knowing how little competent she was to answer any inquiries concerning her errand; but the excess of fear will often give courage, and the most timid animals turn and resist when pressed to extremity. Thus Pauline summoned up all her resolution, and remembering the allusion which the Porter had made to Chavigni’s orders in favour of the Woodman, she replied boldly: “This is no time for jesting, Sir! and as to detaining me, it would be as much as the Governor’s post is worth, if it came to Monsieur de Chavigni’s ears that he ever thought of such a thing.”
“So, so!” cried the Porter with a grin, “you are a friend of Monsieur de Chavigni’s. So—I thought there was something made him so careful of yon sour old Woodman. These great Statesmen must have their little relaxations. So that is it, Mademoiselle? He takes especial care of the father for the daughter’s sake.”
There was a drop or two of the warm blood of Languedoc flowing in Pauline’s veins with all her gentleness, and her patience now became completely exhausted. “Well, Sir!” she answered, “all I have to say to you is, that if I meet with any insolence, it may cost you dear. So bring me to see my father, or refuse me at once.”
“I am not going to refuse you, my pretty demoiselle,” replied the Porter; “though, truly, you speak more like a lady of quality than a Woodman’s daughter. Now I’ll swear you are Madame la Comtesse’s suivante. Nay, do not toss your head so impatiently; your father will be here in a minute; he knows of your having called at the wicket this morning, and is to come here to see you at seven—But here is the Governor, as I live—going to take a twilight walk, I suppose.”
As he spoke, the Governor approached: “Whom have you got here, porter?” he asked, while he eyed Pauline with one of those cool luxurious glances that made her shrink.
“This is the Woodman’s daughter, Sir,” replied the man, “who wishes to speak with her father.”
“By the keys of St. Peter! which are something in my own way,” exclaimed the Governor, “thou art a beautiful daughter for a Woodman. Art thou sure thy mother did not help thee to a better parentage? What is thy father’s name?”