In a Glass Darkly J. Sheridan Le Fanu (intellectual books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu
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âPerfectly,â I agreed.
âNow comes the mystery,â said Monsieur Carmaignac. âAfter that, the Count ChĂąteau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we can make out, by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day before the Countâs 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?â
He politely tendered his open snuffbox, of which I partook, experimentally.
âA reward was offered,â he continued, âwhen the inquiry was instituted, for any information tending to throw a light upon the mystery, which might be afforded by the driver of the fiacre âemployed on the night ofâ (so-and-so), âat about the hour of half-past ten, by a gentleman, with a black-leather travelling-bag in his hand, who descended from a private carriage, and gave his servant some money, which he counted twice over.â About a hundred-and-fifty drivers applied, but not one of them was the right man. We did, however, elicit a curious and unexpected piece of evidence in quite another quarter. What a racket that plaguey harlequin makes with his sword!â
âIntolerable!â I chimed in.
The harlequin was soon gone, and he resumed.
âThe evidence I speak of, came from a boy, about twelve years old, who knew the appearance of the Count perfectly, having been often employed by him as a messenger. He stated that about half-past twelve oâclock, on the same nightâ âupon which you are to observe, there was a brilliant moonâ âhe was sent, his mother having been suddenly taken ill, for the sage femme who lived within a stoneâs throw of the Dragon Volant. His fatherâs house, from which he started, was a mile away, or more, from that inn, in order to reach which he had to pass round the park of the ChĂąteau de la Carque, at the site most remote from the point to which he was going. It passes the old churchyard of St. Aubin, which is separated from the road only by a very low fence, and two or three enormous old trees. The boy was a little nervous as he approached this ancient cemetery; and, under the bright moonlight, he saw a man whom he distinctly recognised as the Count, whom they designated by a soubriquet which means âthe man of smiles.â He was looking rueful enough now, and was seated on the side of a tombstone, on which he had laid a pistol, while he was ramming home the charge of another.
âThe boy got cautiously by, on tiptoe, with his eyes all the time on the Count ChĂąteau Blassemare, or the man he mistook for him; his dress was not what he usually wore, but the witness swore that he could not be mistaken as to his identity. He said his face looked grave and stern; but though he did not smile, it was the same face he knew so well. Nothing would make him swerve from that. If that were he, it was the last time he was seen. He has never been heard of since. Nothing could be heard of him in the neighbourhood of Rouen. There has been no evidence of his death; and there is no sign that he is living.â
âThat certainly is a most singular case,â I replied; and was about to ask a question or two, when Tom Whistlewick who, without my observing it, had been taking a ramble, returned, a great deal more awake, and a great deal less tipsy.
âI say, Carmaignac, it is getting late, and I must go; I really must, for the reason I told youâ âand, Beckett, we must soon meet again.â
âI regret very much, Monsieur, my not being able at present to relate to you the other case, that of another tenant of the very same roomâ âa case more mysterious and sinister than the lastâ âand which occurred in the autumn of the same year.â
âWill you both do a very good-natured thing, and come and dine with me at the Dragon Volant tomorrow?â
So, as we pursued our way along the Galerie des Glaces, I extracted their promise.
âBy Jove!â said Whistlewick, when this was done; âlook at that pagoda, or sedan chair, or whatever it is, just where those fellows set it down, and not one of them near it! I canât imagine how they tell fortunes so devilish well. Jack Nufflesâ âI met him here tonightâ âsays they are gipsiesâ âwhere are they, I wonder? Iâll go over and have a peep at the prophet.â
I saw him plucking at the blinds, which were constructed something on the principle of Venetian blinds; the red curtains were inside; but they did not yield, and he could only peep under one that did not come quite down.
When he rejoined us, he related: âI could scarcely see the old fellow, itâs so dark. He is covered with gold and red, and has an embroidered hat on like a mandarinâs; heâs fast asleep; and, by Jove, he smells like a polecat! Itâs worth going over only to have it to
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