The Nameless Castle | Page 7

mistake: "this" child was not asleep.
She had listened attentively, half sitting up in bed, to as much of the
conversation as she could hear.
A ray of light penetrated through the keyhole. The little girl sprang
nimbly from the bed, ran to the door, and peered through the tiny
aperture. Suddenly footsteps came toward the door. When it opened,
however, the little eavesdropper was back underneath the covers of the
bed. The old gentleman entered the room. He had no candle. He left the
door open, walked noiselessly to the bed, and drew aside the curtains to
see if "this" child was still asleep. The long-drawn, regular breathing
convinced him. Then he took something from the chair beside the bed,
and went back into the other room. The object he had taken from the
chair was the faded red shawl in which the stray child had been
wrapped. He did not close the door of the adjoining chamber, for the
candles had been extinguished and both rooms were now dark.
To the listening child in the bed, however, it seemed as if voices were
whispering near her--as if she heard a stifled sob. Then cautious
footsteps crossed the floor, and after an interval of silence the street
door opened and closed.
Very soon afterward a light was struck in the adjoining room, and the
elder man came through the doorway--alone.

He flung back the doors of the fireplace, and stirred the embers; then he
proceeded to perform a singular task. First he tossed a number of letters
and papers into the flames, then several dainty articles of girls' clothing.
He watched them until they had burned to ashes; then he flung himself
into an arm-chair; his head sank forward on his breast, in which
position he sat motionless for several hours.
CHAPTER II
When the younger of the two men stepped into the street he carried in
his arms a little girl wrapped in a faded red shawl, to whom he was
speaking encouragingly, in tones loud enough for any passer-by to
hear:
"I know the little countess will be able to find her mama's palace; for
there is a fountain in front of it in which there is a stone man with a
three-pronged fork, and a stone lady with a fish-tail! Oh, yes; we shall
be sure to find it; and very soon we shall be with mama."
Here the child in his arms began to sob bitterly.
"For heaven's sake, do not weep; do not let your voice be heard,"
whispered the young man in her ear.
At this moment a man wearing a coarse blouse, with his cap drawn
over his eyes and a short pipe between his lips, came staggering toward
them. The young man, in order to make room for him, pressed close to
the wall, whereupon the new-comer, who seemed intoxicated, began in
drunken tones:
"Hello, citizen! What do you mean? Do you want me to walk in the
gutter?--because you have got on fine boots, and I have only wooden
sabots! I am a citizen like yourself, and as good as you. We are alike,
are n't we?"
The young man now knew with whom he had to deal--a police spy
whose duty it was to watch him. He therefore replied quietly:

"No, we are not alike, citizen; for I have in my arms an unfortunate
child who has strayed from its mother. Every Frenchman respects a
child and misfortune. Is not that so, citizen?"
"Yes, that is so, citizen. Let 's have a little conversation about it"; and
the pretended drunkard seized hold of the young man's mantle to detain
him.
"It is very cold," returned the young man. "Instead of talking here,
suppose you help me get this child to its home. Go to the nearest corner
and fetch a coach. I will wait here for you."
The blouse-wearer hesitated a moment, then walked toward the
street-corner, managing, however, to keep an eye on the young man
and his charge. At the corner he whistled in a peculiar manner,
whereupon the rumbling of wheels was heard. In a few moments the
leather-covered vehicle drew up beside the curb where the young man
was waiting.
"I am very much obliged to you for your kindness, citizen," he said to
the blouse-wearer, who had returned with the coach. "Here," pressing a
twenty-sou piece into the man's palm, "is something for your trouble. I
wish you would come with me to help hunt for this little girl's home. If
you have time, and will come with me, you shall be paid for your
trouble."
"Can't do it, citizen; my wife is expecting me at home. Just you trust
this coachman; he will help you find the place. He 's a clever youth--are
n't you,