He was one of those Waterloo heroes,
new from the mint of glory, whom, as a body, all the world, except
France, revered; and the only thing I knew against him, was a habit of
allaying his thirst, which was excessive at balls, _fêtes_, musical
parties, and all gatherings, where it was to be had, with champagne;
and, as he introduced me to his friend, Monsieur Carmaignac, I observed
that he spoke a little thick. Monsieur Carmaignac was little, lean, and
as straight as a ramrod. He was bald, took snuff, and wore spectacles;
and, as I soon learned, held an official position. Tom was facetious, sly, and rather difficult to understand, in his
present pleasant mood. He was elevating his eyebrows and screwing his
lips oddly, and fanning himself vaguely with his mask. After some agreeable conversation I was glad to observe that he
preferred silence, and was satisfied with the _rôle_ of listener,
as I and Monsieur Carmaignac chatted; and he seated himself, with
extraordinary caution and indecision, upon a bench, beside us, and
seemed very soon to find a difficulty in keeping his eyes open. "I heard you mention," said the French gentleman, "that you had engaged
an apartment in the Dragon Volant, about half a league from this. When I
was in a different police department, about four years ago, two very
strange cases were connected with that house. One was of a wealthy
_émigré_, permitted to return to France by the Em--by Napoleon. He
vanished. The other--equally strange--was the case of a Russian of rank
and wealth. He disappeared just as mysteriously." "My servant," I said, "gave me a confused account of some occurrences,
and, as well as I recollect, he described the same persons--I mean a
returned French nobleman and a Russian gentleman. But he made the whole
story so marvelous--I mean in the supernatural sense--that, I confess, I
did not believe a word of it." "No, there was nothing supernatural; but a great deal inexplicable,"
said the French gentleman. "Of course, there may be theories; but the
thing was never explained, nor, so far as I know, was a ray of light
ever thrown upon it." "Pray let me hear the story," I said. "I think I have a claim, as it
affects my quarters. You don't suspect the people of the house?" "Oh! it has changed hands since then. But there seemed to be a fatality
about a particular room." "Could you describe that room?" "Certainly. It is a spacious, paneled bedroom, up one pair of stairs, in
the back of the house, and at the extreme right, as you look from its
windows." "Ho! Really? Why, then, I have got the very room!" I said, beginning to
be more interested--perhaps the least bit in the world, disagreeably. "Did the people die, or were they actually spirited away?" "No, they did not die--they disappeared very oddly. I'll tell you the
particulars--I happen to know them exactly, because I made an official
visit, on the first occasion, to the house, to collect evidence; and
although I did not go down there, upon the second, the papers came
before me, and I dictated the official letter dispatched to the
relations of the people who had disappeared; they had applied to the
government to investigate the affair. We had letters from the same
relations more than two years later, from which we learned that the
missing men had never turned up." He took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at me. "Never! I shall relate all that happened, so far as we could discover. The French noble, who was the Chevalier Chateau Blassemare, unlike most
_émigrés_ had taken the matter in time, sold a large portion of his
property before the revolution had proceeded so far as to render that
next to impossible, and retired with a large sum. He brought with him
about half a million of francs, the greater part of which he invested in
the French funds; a much larger sum remained in Austrian land and
securities. You will observe then that this gentleman was rich, and
there was no allegation of his having lost money, or being in any way
embarrassed. You see?" I assented. "This gentleman's habits were not expensive in proportion to his means. He had suitable lodgings in Paris; and for a time, society, and
theaters, and other reasonable amusements, engrossed him. He did not
play. He was a middleaged man, affecting youth, with the vanities which
are usual in such persons; but, for the rest, he was a gentle and polite
person, who disturbed nobody--a person, you see, not likely to provoke
an enmity." "Certainly not," I agreed. "Early in the summer of 1811 he got an order permitting him to copy
a picture in one of these _salons_, and came down here, to
Versailles, for the purpose. His work was getting on slowly. After a
time he left his hotel here, and went, by way of change, to the Dragon
Volant; there he took, by special choice, the bedroom which has fallen
to you by chance. From this time, it appeared, he painted little; and
seldom visited his apartments in Paris. One night he saw the host of the
Dragon Volant, and told him that he was going into Paris, to remain for
a day or two, on very particular business; that his servant would
accompany him, but that he would retain his apartments at the Dragon
Volant, and return in a few days. He left some clothes there, but packed
a portmanteau, took his dressing case and the rest, and, with his
servant behind his carriage, drove into Paris. You observe all this,
Monsieur?" "Most attentively," I answered. "Well, Monsieur, as soon as they were approaching his lodgings, he
stopped the carriage on a sudden, told his servant that he had changed
his mind; that he would sleep elsewhere that night, that he had very
particular business in the north of France, not far from Rouen, that he
would set out before daylight on his journey, and return in a fortnight. He called a _fiacre_, took in his hand a leather bag which, the
servant said, was just large enough to hold a few shirts and a coat, but
that it was enormously heavy, as he could testify, for he held it in his
hand, while his master took out his purse to count thirty-six Napoleons,
for which the servant was to account when he should return. He then sent
him on, in the carriage; and he, with the bag I have mentioned, got into
the _fiacre_. Up to that, you see, the narrative is quite clear." "Perfectly," I agreed. "Now comes the mystery," said Monsieur Carmaignac. "After that, the
Count Chateau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we can make out,
by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day before the Count's
stockbroker had, by his direction, sold all his stock in the French
funds, and handed him the cash it realized. The reason he gave him for
this measure tallied with what he said to his servant. He told him that
he was going to the north of France to settle some claims, and did not
know exactly how much might be required. The bag, which had puzzled the
servant by its weight, contained, no doubt, a large sum in gold. Will
Monsieur try my snuff?"