Perhaps, thought Mrs. Sandboys, there might yet be time to extinguish the smouldering mass. Accordingly, she hurried back to her bed-room for the jug of cold water, so that she might empty its contents upon the burning body immediately she discovered whereabouts it lay.
The lady’s steps grew quicker and quicker, as, led by her nose, she followed the smoke, sniffing away like a terrier at a rat-hole—while the further she advanced the thicker the cloud became, until it was as much as she could do to fetch her breath in it.
Nothing daunted, however, she proceeded with the cape of her flannel-gown to her nose, and at length reached the doorway of the apartment of the United Frenchmen, whence she perceived the fumes were issuing. She opened the door cautiously, lest the flames, that she now felt convinced were raging within, should burst out upon her—indeed, at one time, as she stood outside shivering with fright, she was confident that she could hear the “devouring element” roaring within; though, truth to say, it was nothing more horrible than the snoring of the drowsiest of the eight-and-forty foreigners.
As she entered the apartment, all was in such a fog of fume, that it was impossible to distinguish a single object. Presently, however, she caught sight of a burning mass—she knew not where or what it was—but there she could see it, growing brighter and brighter at intervals, as if the breeze were fanning it, and it wanted but a few minutes longer to burst into flame.
Without hesitating for one moment, she dropped the rushlight shade on the ground, and dashed the contents of the water-jug full in the direction of the ignited body.
Immediately after the first splash, there was heard the panting of some one gasping for breath, and then a hoarse cry of—“Sacr-r-re mille nommes de tonnerre!”
Mrs. Sandboys no sooner heard the sound of a man’s voice—and that man a Frenchman—than, letting the empty water-jug fall with a loud crash, she uttered a shrill scream, and flew from the man’s apartment in the direction of her own.
The astonished and drenched Frenchman, who, like the rest of his comrades, had been indulging in the Parisian luxury of a pipe in bed, and who had fallen asleep with his large “meerschaum” still alight in his mouth, hearing the shriek of a female, immediately sprang from his bed, and darted off after the lady, in the hope of making her explain and apologize for the unceremonious manner in which she had roused him from his slumbers.
Mrs. Sandboys, however, had so good a start of the foreigner, that she was able to reach her apartment before he could lay hold of her; and then rushing into it, she slammed to the door, and throwing herself upon her beloved Cursty, fell shrieking and kicking and crying, “There’s a man, Cursty—there’s a man!”
Mr. Sandboys, on being roused so suddenly, required to shake himself two or three times before he could collect himself sufficiently to comprehend whether or not he was finishing the nightmare that the cold rice-pudding had produced. At length, however, he had a vague, indistinct recollection of his wife having previously roused him with an alarm of thieves; so, making up his mind that this was the cause of his Aggy’s fright, and that she had been actually pursued by some daring burglar, he dashed from his bed-room armed with a good stout stick.