Kitabı oku: «Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1», sayfa 29
CHAPTER XLVIII
THE QUARREL
On the evening of the 12th, orders were received for the German brigade and three squadrons of our regiment to pursue the French upon the Terracinthe road by daybreak on the following morning.
I was busily occupied in my preparations for a hurried march when Mike came up to say that an officer desired to speak with me; and the moment after Captain Hammersley appeared. A sudden flush colored his pale and sickly features, as he held out his hand and said, —
“I’ve come to wish you joy, O’Malley. I just this instant heard of your promotion. I am sincerely glad of it; pray tell me the whole affair.”
“That is the very thing I am unable to do. I have some very vague, indistinct remembrance of warding off a sabre-cut from the head of a wounded and unhorsed officer in the mêlée of yesterday, but more I know not. In fact, it was my first duty under fire. I’ve a tolerably clear recollection of all the events of the morning, but the word ‘Charge!’ once given, I remember very little more. But you, where have you been? How have we not met before?”
“I’ve exchanged into a heavy dragoon regiment, and am now employed upon the staff.”
“You are aware that I have letters for you?”
“Power hinted, I think, something of the kind. I saw him very hurriedly.”
These words were spoken with an effort at nonchalance that evidently cost him much.
As for me, my agitation was scarcely less, as fumbling for some seconds in my portmanteau, I drew forth the long destined packet. As I placed it in his hands, he grew deadly pale, and a slight spasmodic twitch in his upper lip bespoke some unnatural struggle. He broke the seal suddenly, and as he did so, the morocco case of a miniature fell upon the ground; his eyes ran rapidly across the letter; the livid color of his lips as the blood forced itself to them added to the corpse-like hue of his countenance.
“You, probably, are aware of the contents of this letter, Mr. O’Malley,” said he, in an altered voice, whose tones, half in anger, half in suppressed irony, cut to my very heart.
“I am in complete ignorance of them,” said I, calmly.
“Indeed, sir!” replied he, with a sarcastic curl of his mouth as he spoke. “Then, perhaps, you will tell me, too, that your very success is a secret to you – ”
“I’m really not aware – ”
“You think, probably, sir, that the pastime is an amusing one, to interfere where the affections of others are concerned. I’ve heard of you, sir. Your conduct at Lisbon is known to me; and though Captain Trevyllian may bear – ”
“Stop, Captain Hammersley!” said I, with a tremendous effort to be calm, – “stop! You have said enough, quite enough, to convince me of what your object was in seeking me here to-day. You shall not be disappointed. I trust that assurance will save you from any further display of temper.”
“I thank you, most humbly I thank you for the quickness of your apprehension; and I shall now take my leave. Good-evening, Mr. O’Malley. I wish you much joy; you have my very fullest congratulations upon all your good fortune.”
The sneering emphasis the last words were spoken with remained fixed in my mind long after he took his departure; and, indeed, so completely did the whole seem like a dream to me that were it not for the fragments of the miniature that lay upon the ground where he had crushed them with his heel, I could scarcely credit myself that I was awake.
My first impulse was to seek Power, upon whose judgment and discretion I could with confidence rely.
I had not long to wait; for scarcely had I thrown my cloak around me, when he rode up. He had just seen, Hammersley, and learned something of our interview.
“Why, Charley, my dear fellow, what is this? How have you treated poor Hammersley?”
“Treated him! Say, rather, how has he treated me!”
I here entered into a short but accurate account of our meeting, during which Power listened with great composure; while I could perceive, from the questions he asked, that some very different impression had been previously made upon his mind.
“And this was all that passed?”
“All.”
“But what of the business at Lisbon?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why, he speaks, – he has heard some foolish account of your having made some ridiculous speech there about your successful rivalry of him in Ireland. Lucy Dashwood, I suppose, is referred to. Some one has been good-natured enough to repeat the thing to him.”
“But it never occurred. I never did.”
“Are you sure, Charley?”
“I am sure. I know I never did.”
“The poor fellow! He has been duped. Come, Charley, you must not take it ill. Poor Hammersley has never recovered a sabre-wound he received some months since upon the head; his intellect is really affected by it. Leave it all to me. Promise not to leave your quarters till I return, and I’ll put everything right again.”
I gave the required pledge; while Power, springing into the saddle, left me to my own reflections.
My frame of mind as Power left me was by no means an enviable one. A quarrel is rarely a happy incident in a man’s life, still less is it so when the difference arises with one we are disposed to like and respect. Such was Hammersley. His manly, straightforward character had won my esteem and regard, and it was with no common scrutiny I taxed my memory to think what could have given rise to the impression he labored under of my having injured him. His chance mention of Trevyllian suggested to me some suspicion that his dislike of me, wherefore arising I knew not, might have its share in the matter; and in this state of doubt and uncertainty I paced impatiently up and down, anxiously watching for Power’s return in the hope of at length getting some real insight into the difficulty.
My patience was fast ebbing, Power had been absent above an hour, and no appearance of him could I detect, when suddenly the tramp of a horse came rapidly up the hill. I looked out and saw a rider coming forward at a very fast pace. Before I had time for even a guess as to who it was, he drew up, and I recognized Captain Trevyllian. There was a certain look of easy impertinence and half-smiling satisfaction about his features I had never seen before, as he touched his cap in salute, and said, —
“May I have the honor of a few words’ conversation with you?”
I bowed silently, while he dismounted, and passing his bridle beneath his arm, walked on beside me.
“My friend Captain Hammersley has commissioned me to wait upon you about this unpleasant affair – ”
“I beg pardon for the interruption, Captain Trevyllian, but as I have yet to learn to what you or your friend alludes, perhaps it may facilitate matters if you will explicitly state your meaning.”
He grew crimson on the cheek as I said this, while, with a voice perfectly unmoved, he continued, —
“I am not sufficiently in my friend’s confidence to know the whole of the affair in question, nor have I his permission to enter into any of it, he probably presuming, as I certainly did myself, that your sense of honor would have deemed further parley and discussion both unnecessary and unseasonable.”
“In fact, then, if I understand, it is expected that I should meet Captain Hammersley for some reason unknown – ”
“He certainly desires a meeting with you,” was the dry reply.
“And as certainly I shall not give it, before understanding upon what grounds.”
“And such I am to report as your answer?” said he, looking at me at the moment with an expression of ill-repressed triumph as he spoke.
There was something in these few words, as well as in the tone in which they were spoken, that sunk deeply in my heart. Was it that by some trick of diplomacy he was endeavoring to compromise my honor and character? Was it possible that my refusal might be construed into any other than the real cause? I was too young, too inexperienced in the world to decide the question for myself, and no time was allowed me to seek another’s counsel. What a trying moment was that for me; my temples throbbed, my heart beat almost audibly, and I stood afraid to speak; dreading on the one hand lest my compliance might involve me in an act to embitter my life forever, and fearful on the other, that my refusal might be reported as a trait of cowardice.
He saw, he read my difficulty at a glance, and with a smile of most supercilious expression, repeated coolly his former question. In an instant all thought of Hammersley was forgotten. I remembered no more. I saw him before me, he who had, since my first meeting, continually contrived to pass some inappreciable slight upon me. My eyes flashed, my hands tingled with ill-repressed rage, as I said, —
“With Captain Hammersley I am conscious of no quarrel, nor have I ever shown by any act or look an intention to provoke one. Indeed, such demonstrations are not always successful; there are persons most rigidly scrupulous for a friend’s honor, little disposed to guard their own.”
“You mistake,” said he, interrupting me, as I spoke these words with a look as insulting as I could make it, – “you mistake. I have sworn a solemn oath never to send a challenge.”
The emphasis upon the word “send,” explained fully his meaning, when I said, —
“But you will not decline – ”
“Most certainly not,” said he, again interrupting, while with sparkling eye and elated look he drew himself up to his full height. “Your friend is – ”
“Captain Power; and yours – ”
“Sir Harry Beaufort. I may observe that, as the troops are in marching order, the matter had better not be delayed.”
“There shall be none on my part.”
“Nor mine!” said he, as with a low bow and a look of most ineffable triumph, he sprang into his saddle; then, “Au revoir, Mr. O’Malley,” said he, gathering up his reins. “Beaufort is on the staff, and quartered at Oporto.” So saying, he cantered easily down the slope, and once more I was alone.
CHAPTER XLIX
THE ROUTE CONTINUED
I was leisurely examining my pistols, – poor Considine’s last present to me on leaving home, – when an orderly sergeant rode up, and delivered into my hands the following order: —
Lieutenant O’Malley will hold himself in immediate readiness to proceed on a particular service. By order of his Excellency the Commander of the Forces.
[Signed] S. GORDON, Military Secretary.
“What can this mean?” thought I. “It is not possible that any rumor of my intended meeting could have got abroad, and that my present destination could be intended as a punishment?”
I walked hurriedly to the door of the little hut which formed my quarters; below me in the plain, all was activity and preparation, the infantry were drawn up in marching order, baggage wagons, ordnance stores, and artillery seemed all in active preparation, and some cavalry squadrons might be already seen with forage allowances behind the saddle, as if only waiting the order to set out. I strained my eyes to see if Power was coming, but no horseman approached in the direction. I stood, and I hesitated whether I should not rather seek him at once, than continue to wait on in my present uncertainty; but then, what if I should miss him? And I had pledged myself to remain till he returned.
While I deliberated thus with myself, weighing the various chances for and against each plan, I saw two mounted officers coming towards me at a brisk trot. As they came nearer, I recognized one as my colonel, the other was an officer of the staff.
Supposing that their mission had some relation to the order I had so lately received, and which until now I had forgotten, I hastily returned and ordered Mike to my presence.
“How are the horses, Mike?” said I.
“Never better, sir. Badger was wounded slightly by a spent shot in the counter, but he’s never the worse this morning, and the black horse is capering like a filly.”
“Get ready my pack, feed the cattle, and be prepared to set out at a moment’s warning.”
“Good advice, O’Malley,” said the colonel, as he overheard the last direction to my servant. “I hope the nags are in condition?”
“Why yes, sir, I believe they are.”
“All the better; you’ve a sharp ride before you. Meanwhile let me introduce my friend; Captain Beaumont, Mr. O’Malley. I think we had better be seated.”
“These are your instructions, Mr. O’Malley,” said Captain Beaumont, unfolding a map as he spoke. “You will proceed from this with half a troop of our regiment by forced marches towards the frontier, passing through the town of Calenco and Guarda and the Estrella pass. On arriving at the headquarters of the Lusitanian Legion, which you will find there, you are to put yourself under the orders of Major Monsoon, commanding that force. Any Portuguese cavalry he may have with him will be attached to yours and under your command; your rank for the time being that of captain. You will, as far as possible, acquaint yourself with the habits and capabilities of the native cavalry, and make such report as you judge necessary thereupon to his Excellency the commander of the forces. I think it only fair to add that you are indebted to my friend Colonel Merivale for the very flattering position thus opened to your skill and enterprise.”
“My dear Colonel, let me assure you – ”
“Not a word, my boy. I knew the thing would suit you, and I am sure I can count upon your not disappointing my expectations of you. Sir Arthur perfectly remembers your name. He only asked two questions, —
“‘Is he well mounted?’
“‘Admirably,’ was my answer.
“‘Can you depend upon his promptitude?’
“‘He’ll leave in half an hour.’ “So you see, O’Malley, I have already pledged myself for you. And now I must say adieu; the regiments are about to take up a more advanced position, so good-by. I hope you’ll have a pleasant time of it till we meet again.”
“It is now twelve o’clock, Mr. O’Malley,” said Beaumont; “we may rely upon your immediate departure. Your written instructions and despatches will be here within a quarter of an hour.”
I muttered something, – what, I cannot remember; I bowed my thanks to my worthy colonel, shook his hand warmly, and saw him ride down the hill and disappear in the crowd of soldiery beneath, before I could recall my faculties and think over my situation.
Then all at once did the full difficulty of my position break upon me. If I accepted my present employment I must certainly fail in my engagement to Trevyllian. But I had already pledged myself to its acceptance. What was to be done? No time was left for deliberation. The very minutes I should have spent in preparation were fast passing. Would that Power might appear! Alas, he came not! My state of doubt and uncertainty increased every moment; I saw nothing but ruin before me, even at a moment when fortune promised most fairly for the future, and opened a field of enterprise my heart had so often and so ardently desired. Nothing was left me but to hasten to Colonel Merivale and decline my appointment; to do so was to prejudice my character in his estimation forever, for I dared not allege my reasons, and in all probability my conduct might require my leaving the army.
“Be it so, then,” said I, in an accent of despair; “the die is cast.”
I ordered my horse round; I wrote a few words to Power to explain my absence should he come while I was away, and leaped into the saddle. As I reached the plain my pace became a gallop, and I pressed my horse with all the impatience my heart was burning with. I dashed along the lines towards Oporto, neither hearing nor seeing aught around me, when suddenly the clank of cavalry accoutrements behind induced me to turn my head, and I perceived an orderly dragoon at full gallop in pursuit. I pulled up till he came alongside.
“Lieutenant O’Malley, sir,” said the man, saluting, “these despatches are for you.”
I took them hurriedly, and was about to continue my route, when the attitude of the dragoon arrested my attention. He had reined in his horse to the side of the narrow causeway, and holding him still and steadily, sat motionless as a statue. I looked behind and saw the whole staff approaching at a brisk trot. Before I had a moment for thought they were beside me.
“Ah, O’Malley,” cried Merivale, “you have your orders; don’t wait; his Excellency is coming up.”
“Get along, I advise you,” said another, “or you’ll catch it, as some of us have done this morning.”
“All is right, Charley; you can go in safety,” said a whispering voice, as Power passed in a sharp canter.
That one sentence was enough; my heart bounded like a deer, my cheek beamed with the glow of delighted pleasure, I closed my spurs upon my gallant gray and dashed across the plain.
When I arrived at my quarters the men were drawn up in waiting, and provided with rations for three days’ march; Mike was also prepared for the road, and nothing more remained to delay me.
“Captain Power has been here, sir, and left a note.”
I took it and thrust it hastily into my sabretasche. I knew from the few words he had spoken that my present step involved me in no ill consequences; so giving the word to wheel into column, I rode to the front and set out upon my march to Alcantara.
CHAPTER L
THE WATCH-FIRE
There are few things so inspiriting to a young soldier as the being employed with a separate command; the picket and outpost duty have a charm for him no other portion of his career possesses. The field seems open for individual boldness and heroism; success, if obtained, must redound to his own credit; and what can equal, in its spirit-stirring enthusiasm, that first moment when we become in any way the arbiter of our own fortunes?
Such were my happy thoughts, as with a proud and elated heart I set forth upon my march. The notice the commander-in-chief had bestowed upon me had already done much; it had raised me in my own estimation, and implanted within me a longing desire for further distinction. I thought, too, of those far, far away, who were yet to hear of my successes.
I fancied to myself how they would severally receive the news. My poor uncle, with tearful eye and quivering lip, was before me, as I saw him read the despatch, then wipe his glasses, and read on, till at last, with one long-drawn breath, his manly voice, tremulous with emotion, would break forth: “My boy! my own Charley!” Then I pictured Considine, with port erect and stern features, listening silently; not a syllable, not a motion betraying that he felt interested in my fate, till as if impatient, at length he would break in: “I knew it, – I said so; and yet you thought to make him a lawyer!” And then old Sir Harry, his warm heart glowing with pleasure, and his good-humored face beaming with happiness, how many a blunder he would make in retailing the news, and how many a hearty laugh his version of it would give rise to!
I passed in review before me the old servants, as they lingered in the room to hear the story. Poor old Matthew, the butler, fumbling with his corkscrew to gain a little time; then looking in my uncle’s face, half entreatingly, as he asked: “Any news of Master Charles, sir, from the wars?”
While thus my mind wandered back to the scenes and faces of my early home, I feared to ask myself how she would feel to whom my heart was now turning. Too deeply did I know how poor my chances were in that quarter to nourish hope, and yet I could not bring myself to abandon it altogether. Hammersley’s strange conduct suggested to me that he, at least, could not be my rival; while I plainly perceived that he regarded me as his. There was a mystery in all this I could not fathom, and I ardently longed for my next meeting with Power, to learn the nature of his interview, and also in what manner the affair had been arranged.
Such were my passing thoughts as I pressed forward. My men, picked no less for themselves than their horses, came rapidly along; and ere evening, we had accomplished twelve leagues of our journey.
The country through which we journeyed, though wild and romantic in its character, was singularly rich and fertile, – cultivation reaching to the very summits of the rugged mountains, and patches of wheat and Indian corn peeping amidst masses of granite rock and tangled brushwood. The vine and the olive grew wild on every side; while the orange and the arbutus, loading the air with perfume, were mingled with prickly pear-trees and variegated hollies. We followed no regular track, but cantered along over hill and valley, through forest and prairie, now in long file through some tall field of waving corn, now in open order upon some level plain, – our Portuguese guide riding a little in advance of us, upon a jet-black mule, carolling merrily some wild Gallician melody as he went.
As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a little stream that flowing along a rocky bed, skirted a vast forest of tall cork-trees. Here we called a halt, and picketing our horses, proceeded to make our arrangements for a bivouac.
Never do I remember a more lovely night. The watch-fires sent up a delicious odor from the perfumed shrubs; while the glassy water reflected on its still surface the starry sky that, unshadowed and unclouded, stretched above us. I wrapped myself in my trooper’s mantle, and lay down beneath a tree, – but not to sleep. There was a something so exciting, and withal so tranquillizing, that I had no thought of slumber, but fell into a musing revery. There was a character of adventure in my position that charmed me much. My men were gathered in little groups beside the fires; some sunk in slumber, others sat smoking silently, or chatting, in a low undertone, of some bygone scene of battle or bivouac; here and there were picketed the horses; the heavy panoply and piled carbines flickering in the red glare of the watch-fires, which ever and anon threw a flitting glow upon the stern and swarthy faces of my bold troopers. Upon the trees around, sabres and helmets, holsters and cross-belts, were hung like armorial bearings in some antique hall, the dark foliage spreading its heavy shadow around us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the erect figure of the sentry, with his short carbine resting in the hollow of his arm, was seen slowly pacing in measured tread, or standing for a moment silently, as he looked upon the fair and tranquil sky, – his thoughts doubtless far, far away, beyond the sea, to some humble home, where, —
“The hum of the spreading sycamore,
That grew beside his cottage door,”
was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of his children stirred his bold heart. It was a Salvator-Rosa scene, and brought me back in fancy to the bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By the uncertain light of the wood embers I endeavored to sketch the group that lay before me.
The night wore on. One by one the soldiers stretched themselves to sleep, and all was still. As the hours rolled by a drowsy feeling crept gradually over me. I placed my pistols by my side, and having replenished the fire by some fresh logs, disposed myself comfortably before it.
It was during that half-dreamy state that intervenes between waking and sleep that a rustling sound of the branches behind attracted my attention. The air was too calm to attribute this to the wind, so I listened for some minutes; but sleep, too long deferred, was over-powerful, and my head sank upon my grassy pillow, and I was soon sound asleep. How long I remained thus, I know not; but I awoke suddenly. I fancied some one had shaken me rudely by the shoulder; but yet all was tranquil. My men were sleeping soundly as I saw them last. The fires were becoming low, and a gray streak in the sky, as well as a sharp cold feeling of the air, betokened the approach of day. Once more I heaped some dry branches together, and was again about to stretch myself to rest, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I turned quickly round, and by the imperfect light of the fire, saw the figure of a man standing motionless beside me; his head was bare, and his hair fell in long curls upon his shoulders; one hand was pressed upon his bosom, and with the other he motioned me to silence. My first impression was that our party were surprised by some French patrol; but as I looked again, I recognized, to my amazement, that the individual before me was the young French officer I had seen that morning a prisoner beside the Douro.
“How came you here?” said I, in a low voice, to him in French.
“Escaped; one of my own men threw himself between me and the sentry; I swam the Douro, received a musket-ball through my arm, lost my shako, and here I am!”
“You are aware you are again a prisoner?”
“If you desire it, of course I am,” said he, in a voice full of feeling that made my very heart creep. “I thought you were a party of Lorge’s Dragoons, scouring the country for forage; tracked you the entire day, and have only now come up with you.”
The poor fellow, who had neither eaten nor drunk since daybreak, wounded and footsore, had accomplished twelve leagues of a march only once more to fall into the hands of his enemies. His years could scarcely have numbered nineteen; his countenance was singularly prepossessing; and though bleeding and torn, with tattered uniform, and without a covering to his head, there was no mistaking for a moment that he was of gentle blood. Noiselessly and cautiously I made him sit down beside the fire, while I spread before him the sparing remnant of my last night’s supper, and shared my solitary bottle of sherry with him.
From the moment he spoke, I never entertained a thought of making him a prisoner; but as I knew not how far I was culpable in permitting, if not actually facilitating, his escape, I resolved to keep the circumstance a secret from my party, and if possible, get him away before daybreak.
No sooner did he learn my intentions regarding him, than in an instant all memory of his past misfortune, all thoughts of his present destitute condition, seemed to have fled; and while I dressed his wound and bound up his shattered arm, he chattered away as unconcernedly about the past and the future as though seated beside the fire of his own bivouac, and surrounded by his own brother officers.
“You took us by surprise the other day,” said he. “Our marshal looked for the attack from the mouth of the river; we received information that your ships were expected there. In any case, our retreat was an orderly one, and must have been effected with slight loss.”
I smiled at the self-complacency of this reasoning, but did not contradict him.
“Your loss must indeed have been great; your men crossed under the fire of a whole battery.”
“Not exactly,” said I; “our first party were quietly stationed in Oporto before you knew anything about it.”
“Ah, sacré Dieu! Treachery!” cried he, striking his forehead with his clinched fist.
“Not so; mere daring, – nothing more. But come, tell me something of your own adventures. How were you taken?”
“Simply thus, – I was sent to the rear with orders to the artillery to cut their traces, and leave the guns; and when coming back, my horse grew tired in the heavy ground, and I was spurring him to the utmost, when one of your heavy dragoons – an officer, too – dashed at me, and actually rode me down, horse and all. I lay for some time bruised by the fall, when an infantry soldier passing by seized me by the collar, and brought me to the rear. No matter, however, here I am now. You will not give me up; and perhaps I may one day live to repay the kindness.”
“You have not long joined?”
“It was my first battle; my epaulettes were very smart things yesterday, though they do look a little passés to-day. You are advancing, I suppose?”
I smiled without answering this question.
“Ah, I see you don’t wish to speak. Never mind, your discretion is thrown away upon me; for if I rejoined my regiment to-morrow, I should have forgotten all you told me, – all but your great kindness.” These last words he spoke, bowing slightly his head, and coloring as he said them.
“You are a dragoon, I think?” said I, endeavoring to change the topic.
“I was, two days ago, chasseur à cheval, a sous-lieutenant, in the regiment of my father, the General St. Croix.”
“The name is familiar to me,” I replied, “and I am sincerely happy to be in a position to serve the son of so distinguished an officer.”
“The son of so distinguished an officer is most deeply obliged, but wishes with all his heart and soul he had never sought glory under such very excellent auspices. You look surprised, mon cher; but let me tell you, my military ardor is considerably abated in the last three days. Hunger, thirst, imprisonment, and this” – lifting his wounded limb as he spoke – “are sharp lessons in so short a campaign, and for one too, whose life hitherto had much more of ease than adventure to boast of. Shall I tell you how I became a soldier?”
“By all means; give me your glass first; and now, with a fresh log to the fire, I’m your man.”
“But stay; before I begin, look to this.”
The blood was flowing rapidly from his wound, which with some difficulty I succeeded in stanching. He drank off his wine hastily, held out his glass to be refilled, and then began his story.
“You have never seen the Emperor?”
“Never.”
“Sacrebleu! What a man he is! I’d rather stand under the fire of your grenadiers, than meet his eye. When in a passion, he does not say much, it is true; but what he does, comes with a kind of hissing, rushing sound, while the very fire seems to kindle in his look. I have him before me this instant, and though you will confess that my present condition has nothing very pleasing in it, I should be sorry indeed to change it for the last time I stood in his presence.
“Two months ago I sported the gay light-blue and silver of a page to the Emperor, and certainly, what with balls, bonbons, flirtation, gossip, and champagne suppers, led a very gay, reckless, and indolent life of it. Somehow, – I may tell you more accurately at another period, if we ever meet, – I got myself into disgrace, and as a punishment, was ordered to absent myself from the Tuileries, and retire for some weeks to Fontainebleau. Siberia to a Russian would scarcely be a heavier infliction than was this banishment to me. There was no court, no levee, no military parade, no ball, no opera. A small household of the Emperor’s chosen servants quietly kept house there. The gloomy walls re-echoed to no music; the dark alleys of the dreary garden seemed the very impersonation of solitude and decay. Nothing broke the dull monotony of the tiresome day, except when occasionally, near sunset, the clash of the guard would be heard turning out, and the clank of presenting arms, followed by the roll of a heavy carriage into the gloomy courtyard. One lamp, shining like a star, in a small chamber on the second floor, would remain till near four, sometimes five o’clock in the morning. The same sounds of the guard and the same dull roll of the carriage would break the stillness of the early morning; and the Emperor – for it was he – would be on his road back to Paris.
