A long, dark, and narrow street, lighted by only two lanterns that flickered like glow-worms at each end of it, led me towards the Rue St. Antoine; and heedless of everything but the desire to leave Paris, I hurried along the deserted thoroughfares, with a swimming head and a sickened heart.
The streets of Paris, like those of London, were then in a deplorable condition; unpaved, and encumbered by heaps of rubbish and cinders, the daily débris of the household, that festered in the stagnant gutters and watercourses, with the blood of the slaughter-booths, all matted and plashed by the feet of passengers, the hoofs of horses, and the wheels of waggons, carriages, and fiacres. Many of the tortuous and intricate alleys were literally dunghills. In the deep central gutters the swine revelled, and contested with kites and crows, dogs and beggars, for the offal of Paris. A French prince of the royal blood was killed in the city by a privileged pig of St. Anthony running between the legs of his horse; the splendid rider was brought prone into the mud with a broken neck. Moreover, in this good city every variety of slops and utensils were emptied nightly over the windows, with the same warning cry that was used in Scottish towns, and which never failed to strike the belated with alarm—Gardez l'eau!
I dashed on, my sword still unsheathed, leaping the chains at the ends of the greater thoroughfares; on past the Porte St. Antoine, unseen by the watch, unchallenged by the sentinels, and leaving the town behind me, hurried along a country road, which afterwards proved to be the way to Vincennes. At length the fields, the trees, and solitude were around me, and I paused to draw breath, and look back to where the vastness of Paris, like a wilderness of stone, lay buried in sleep, and overtopped by the huge dark towers of Notre Dame.
Another black and frowning mass rose above the roofs and spires: it resembled the keep of a castle. I remembered the Bastille, that place of dreadful memories; and when recalling the rank of those I had so recently encountered, for one had been termed chevalier, and the other monseigneur, I felt more than one retrospective pang of anxiety or panic, and while endeavouring to imagine in what part of yonder wilderness my antagonist was lying, I turned my back upon it, and, with a glow of sad and fierce satisfaction, inhaled the free, pure breeze that came over the fallow fields. The sound of hoofs made me pause, listen eagerly, and then hurriedly to pierce a hedge and leave the road; for a mounted party, to my consternation too evidently the night patrol bent in pursuit of me, galloped along the highway. I had the ring of the discomfited chevalier, but I cared not to test its virtue on the lieutenant of police.
After wandering for nearly an hour in a park or lawn, the smooth and grassy level of which was broken at intervals by thickets of trees and shrubbery, I found myself close to a large and handsome château. Its turreted façade cut the sky, and its numerous vanes of gilt copper were creaking in the wind, as I ascended the paved and balustraded terrace, which formed a broad plateau around the walls. The edifice formed three sides of a quadrangle; the centre was evidently appropriated to the principal inmates; but the whole was covered by rich carving, coats of arms, florid cornices and gablets. The wings were apparently the residence of servants, with the stables and offices. On the highest slate-roofed turret creaked a large swallow-tailed vane—in fact, a girouette, which, of old, was permitted only to those of the ancient French noblesse who had been foremost in entering a breach, or planting his pennon on a hostile rampart—hence the modern vane.
This stately château was nearly all sunk in gloom; one or two lights amid its sombre masses alone pierced the darkness; and, fearing to be taken for a robber, and perhaps fired on by the arquebuse of some pot-valiant butler or officious lacquey, I stood upon the paved terrace, irresolute whether to strike the bell at the porter's lodge, or retire altogether; but an end was put to my indecision, when a curtain was suddenly withdrawn at one of the large windows on the ground-floor; a flood of light streamed across the terrace and lawn, and the figure of a handsome woman, richly dressed, was seen for a moment, as she peered inquiringly into the darkness without.
As she withdrew and the curtain fell from her hand, but without completely closing, I approached softly and peeped in, for in my present desperate emergency I was resolved to trust rather to the advice and protection of a woman than of a man.
The apartment was small, and richly decorated in the florid French taste: I took in the whole scene at a glance. The walls were hung with the finest specimen of Gobelin tapestry, representing the judgment of Solomon. The chairs were cushioned with pale-blue satin, fringed with silver, and, like the tables, they were richly gilt. On a buhl table stood a gorgeous silver lamp, the soft light of which fell on the figures of two ladies. One was tall, high-bosomed, and round-armed—full and ample every way, even to voluptuousness. She seemed to be about thirty-five years of age, and had magnificent eyes, with a bewitching droop in their long lashes, and an irresistible smile over all her face. Her complexion was brilliant, and her manner was full of vivacity. She wore a green silk dress, starred with gold; and carried in her jewelled hand a large fan of painted feathers. Her fingers, her chesnut hair, her bosom and taper arms were sparkling with diamonds; and by the richness of her costume, and the languid air that pervaded her manner, I supposed that she had just returned from some brilliant Parisian fête.
Her companion was a fair young girl with white shoulders, and a complexion of excessive delicacy; soft and pale, but it seemed the pallor of high birth and gentle breeding, rather than want of health. Her hair, which hung about her in great volume, was of the lightest auburn; thus her ringlets shone like clusters of gold in the lamplight; her eyes were a deep blue or violet colour, and their brows and lashes a dark-brown tint. Her attire was singularly plain; in one hand she carried a thick serge mantle; in the other a black velvet mask.
She was excited apparently, for she spoke in low and hurried tones, while delivering certain letters and papers to the taller lady, who might have passed for her aunt or elder sister; yet there was no resemblance in face or manner between them.