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somber style, long out of date.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."
It was, therefore, no use trying, at least for the present. Perhaps he
had nothing to relate. Should I think differently, by-and-by, I could
try the effect of a few Napoleons. Possibly he meant to extract them.
The host of the Dragon Volant was an elderly man, thin, bronzed,
intelligent, and with an air of decision, perfectly military. I learned
afterwards that he had served under Napoleon in his early Italian
campaigns.
"One question, I think you may answer," I said, "without risking a
quarrel. Is the Count at home?"
"He has many homes, I conjecture," said the host evasively. "But--but I
think I may say, Monsieur, that he is, I believe, at present staying at
the Château de la Carque."
I looked out of the window, more interested than ever, across the
undulating grounds to the château, with its gloomy background of
foliage.
"I saw him today, in his carriage at Versailles," I said.
"Very natural."
"Then his carriage, and horses, and servants, are at the château?"
"The carriage he puts up here, Monsieur, and the servants are hired for
the occasion. There is but one who sleeps at the château. Such a life
must be terrifying for Madame the Countess," he replied.
"The old screw!" I thought. "By this torture, he hopes to extract her
diamonds. What a life! What fiends to contend with--jealousy and
extortion!"
The knight having made his speech to himself, cast his eyes once more
upon the enchanter's castle, and heaved a gentle sigh--a sigh of
longing, of resolution, and of love.
What a fool I was! And yet, in the sight of angels, are we any wiser as
we grow older? It seems to me, only, that our illusions change as we go
on; but, still, we are madmen all the same.
"Well, St. Clair," said I, as my servant entered, and began to arrange
my things.
"You have got a bed?"
"In the cock-loft, Monsieur, among the spiders, and, _par ma foi_!
the cats and the owls. But we agree very well. _Vive la bagatelle_!"
"I had no idea it was so full."
"Chiefly the servants, Monsieur, of those persons who were fortunate
enough to get apartments at Versailles."
"And what do you think of the Dragon Volant?"
"The Dragon Volant! Monsieur; the old fiery dragon! The devil himself,
if all is true! On the faith of a Christian, Monsieur, they say that
diabolical miracles have taken place in this house."
"What do you mean? _Revenants_?"
"Not at all, sir; I wish it was no worse. _Revenants_? No! People
who have never returned--who vanished, before the eyes of half-a-dozen
men all looking at them."
"What do you mean, St. Clair? Let us hear the story, or miracle, or
whatever it is."
"It is only this, Monsieur, that an ex-master-of-the-horse of the late
king, who lost his head--Monsieur will have the goodness to recollect,
in the revolution--being permitted by the Emperor to return to France,
lived here in this hotel, for a month, and at the end of that time
vanished, visibly, as I told you, before the faces of half-a-dozen
credible witnesses! The other was a Russian nobleman, six feet high and
upwards, who, standing in the center of the room, downstairs, describing
to seven gentlemen of unquestionable veracity the last moments of Peter
the Great, and having a glass of _eau de vie_ in his left hand, and
his _tasse de cafe,_ nearly finished, in his right, in like manner
vanished. His boots were found on the floor where he had been standing;
and the gentleman at his right found, to his astonishment, his cup of
coffee in his fingers, and the gentleman at his left, his glass of
_eau de vie_--"
"Which he swallowed in his confusion," I suggested.
"Which was preserved for three years among the curious articles of this
house, and was broken by the _curé_ while conversing with
Mademoiselle Fidone in the housekeeper's room; but of the Russian
nobleman himself, nothing more was ever seen or heard. _Parbleu_!
when _we_ go out of the Dragon Volant, I hope it may be by the
door. I heard all this, Monsieur, from the postilion who drove us."
"Then it _must_ be true!" said I, jocularly: but I was beginning to
feel the gloom of the view, and of the chamber in which I stood; there
had stolen over me, I know not how, a presentiment of evil; and my joke
was with an effort, and my spirit flagged.