CHAPTER XVII.
"STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE."
The chill and rainy afternoon gave way to an evening as rainy and more chill. The carriage rolled southward, past St. Ouen, and still on. Those inside spoke not a word. The men on the coachman's seat protected themselves from the rain with their cloaks as best they could, and uttered no complaint. Dick could see nothing through the carriage window, against the dark sky, but the darker forms of trees and buildings gliding by. He had too much else on his mind to appreciate the fact that he was at last about to enter Paris, the goal of his dream-journeys in childhood. At first he was in a kind of stupor, and felt like one hurled through increasing darkness towards blackest night, there to meet annihilation. Then his mind began to work, and soon was in a whirl. Assassination,—he shrank from it with disgust and horror. The alternative, death,—he recoiled from the idea, as youth and hope ever must recoil. Was there no middle course? He racked his brain to find one; he found it not, yet still he racked his brain.
It was quite dark now, and they had passed the outer barrier without Dick's noting the fact. But the houses, now close together and of different character from those of the village of La Chapelle, indicated that the carriage must be in the faubourg, at least. Presently Dick perceived that they were passing beneath a great arch (it was the Porte St. Denis, erected under Louis XIV., though Dick knew it not); then that they turned to the right, and, a minute later, obliquely to the left, finally proceeding along a slightly narrower street than they had already traversed. A movement on the part of the man at his right seemed to indicate that the destination was near at hand. They were indeed in the Rue Clery, and approaching the Rue du Petit Carreau, although the dark streets were nameless to Dick. Suddenly he had an idea. He gave a start, as if he had awakened from a feverish sleep.
"Messieurs," he said, in a half terrified tone, "I have had a remarkable dream, a wonderfully vivid one, though I have not for a moment lost sense of my being with you in this carriage."
"It is the time for acts now, not for dreams," said the leader of the Brotherhood.
"But this dream concerns the act," said Dick, in an awe-stricken manner. "It was rather a vision than a dream. I felt, and feel now, as if it were a message from above."
"Let us hear it, then," said the leader.
"I dreamt all had been carried out as planned, up to the moment of my striking the blow. And then the man caught the sword entering his body, and broke it in two, though the hilt was still in my hand. He drew the point from his side, and stood, very little wounded, before me, while I looked around in vain for another weapon."