"Now genelmen," said old Royal, calmly, "de business bein' done, dis meetin' stand adjourn till furder ordaw. Niggas, I tink you'd bettaw cut stick."
[PART THIRD.]
"THROUGH THE SILENT CITY."
DECEMBER 24, 1844.
CHAPTER I.
THE DEN OF MADAM RESIMER.
Yonder, in the still winter night, the temple stands, all dark and sullen without, but bright with festal lights within. Stand here in the dark, and you will see the guests of the temple come,—now one by one,—now two by two,—sometimes in parties of four,—and all are carefully cloaked and masked. They come noiselessly along the dark street: they glide stealthily up the steps, and beneath the arch of the gloomy door. A gentle knock,—the door is slightly opened,—a password is whispered,—and one by one, and two by two, and sometimes in parties of four, the guests of the temple glide over its threshold, and pass like shadows from the sight.
Shall we also enter? Not yet. We will wait until the revel is at its height, and until the masks begin to fall.