Tell your
servant to follow us, and get in here and sit beside me." Fortunately an opening in the closely-packed carriages had just
occurred, and mine was approaching. I directed the servant to follow us; and the Marquis having said a word
to his driver, we were immediately in motion. "I will bring you to a comfortable place, the very existence of which is
known to but few Parisians, where, knowing how things were here, I
secured a room for you. It is only a mile away, and an old comfortable
inn, called the Le Dragon Volant. It was fortunate for you that my
tiresome business called me to this place so early." I think we had driven about a mile-and-a-half to the further side of the
palace when we found ourselves upon a narrow old road, with the woods of
Versailles on one side, and much older trees, of a size seldom seen in
France, on the other. We pulled up before an antique and solid inn, built of Caen stone, in a
fashion richer and more florid than was ever usual in such houses, and
which indicated that it was originally designed for the private mansion
of some person of wealth, and probably, as the wall bore many carved
shields and supporters, of distinction also. A kind of porch, less
ancient than the rest, projected hospitably with a wide and florid arch,
over which, cut in high relief in stone, and painted and gilded, was the
sign of the inn. This was the Flying Dragon, with wings of brilliant red
and gold, expanded, and its tail, pale green and gold, twisted and
knotted into ever so many rings, and ending in a burnished point barbed
like the dart of death. "I shan't go in--but you will find it a comfortable place; at all events
better than nothing. I would go in with you, but my incognito forbids. You will, I daresay, be all the better pleased to learn that the inn is
haunted--I should have been, in my young days, I know. But don't allude
to that awful fact in hearing of your host, for I believe it is a sore
subject. Adieu. If you want to enjoy yourself at the ball, take my
advice and go in a domino. I think I shall look in; and certainly, if I
do, in the same costume. How shall we recognize one another? Let me see,
something held in the fingers--a flower won't do, so many people will
have flowers. Suppose you get a red cross a couple of inches long--you're
an Englishman--stitched or pinned on the breast of your domino,
and I a white one? Yes, that will do very well; and whatever room you go
into keep near the door till we meet. I shall look for you at all the
doors I pass; and you, in the same way, for me; and we _must_ find
each other soon. So that is understood. I can't enjoy a thing of that
kind with any but a young person; a man of my age requires the contagion
of young spirits and the companionship of someone who enjoys everything
spontaneously. Farewell; we meet tonight." By this time I was standing on the road; I shut the carriage-door; bid
him good-bye; and away he drove. Chapter XI

THE DRAGON VOLANT


I took one look about me. The building was picturesque; the trees made it more so. The antique and
sequestered character of the scene contrasted strangely with the glare
and bustle of the Parisian life, to which my eye and ear had become
accustomed. Then I examined the gorgeous old sign for a minute or two. Next I
surveyed the exterior of the house more carefully. It was large and
solid, and squared more with my ideas of an ancient English hostelrie,
such as the Canterbury Pilgrims might have put up at, than a French
house of entertainment. Except, indeed, for a round turret, that rose at
the left flank of the house, and terminated in the extinguisher-shaped
roof that suggests a French château. I entered and announced myself as Monsieur Beckett, for whom a room had
been taken. I was received with all the consideration due to an English
milord, with, of course, an unfathomable purse. My host conducted me to my apartment. It was a large room, a little
somber, paneled with dark wainscoting, and furnished in a stately and
somber style, long out of date. There was a wide hearth, and a heavy
mantelpiece, carved with shields, in which I might, had I been curious
enough, have discovered a correspondence with the heraldry on the outer
walls. There was something interesting, melancholy, and even depressing
in all this. I went to the stone-shafted window, and looked out upon a
small park, with a thick wood, forming the background of a château which
presented a cluster of such conical-topped turrets as I have just now
mentioned. The wood and château were melancholy objects. They showed signs of
neglect, and almost of decay; and the gloom of fallen grandeur, and a
certain air of desertion hung oppressively over the scene. I asked my host the name of the château. "That, Monsieur, is the Château de la Carque," he answered. "It is a pity it is so neglected," I observed. "I should say, perhaps, a
pity that its proprietor is not more wealthy?" "Perhaps so, Monsieur." "_Perhaps_?" I repeated, and looked at him. "Then I suppose he is
not very popular." "Neither one thing nor the other, Monsieur," he answered; "I meant only
that we could not tell what use he might make of riches." "And who is he?" I inquired. "The Count de St. Alyre." "Oh! The Count! You are quite sure?" I asked, very eagerly. It was now the innkeeper's turn to look at me. "_Quite_ sure, Monsieur, the Count de St. Alyre." "Do you see much of him in this part of the world?" "Not a great deal, Monsieur; he is often absent for a considerable
time." "And is he poor?" I inquired. "I pay rent to him for this house. It is not much; but I find he cannot
wait long for it," he replied, smiling satirically. "From what I have heard, however, I should think he cannot be very
poor?" I continued. "They say, Monsieur, he plays. I know not. He certainly is not rich. About seven months ago, a relation of his died in a distant place. His
body was sent to the Count's house here, and by him buried in Père la
Chaise, as the poor gentleman had desired. The Count was in profound
affliction; although he got a handsome legacy, they say, by that death. But money never seems to do him good for any time." "He is old, I believe?" "Old? We call him the 'Wandering Jew,' except, indeed, that he has not
always the five _sous_ in his pocket. Yet, Monsieur, his courage
does not fail him. He has taken a young and handsome wife." "And she?" I urged--

"Is the Countess de St. Alyre." "Yes; but I fancy we may say something more? She has attributes?" "Three, Monsieur, three, at least most amiable." "Ah! And what are they?" "Youth, beauty, and--diamonds." I laughed. The sly old gentleman was foiling my curiosity. "I see, my friend," said I, "you are reluctant--"

"To quarrel with the Count," he concluded. "True. You see, Monsieur, he
could vex me in two or three ways, so could I him. But, on the whole, it
is better each to mind his business, and to maintain peaceful relations;
you understand."