the curtains of the bed where the last Marquis had slept. East,

West, North, and South, through the woods, four heavy-treading,

unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the branches,

striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. Four

lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and

all was black again.

But, not for long. Presently, the chateau began to make itself

strangely visible by some light of its own, as though it were

growing luminous. Then, a flickering streak played behind the

architecture of the front, picking out transparent places, and

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

showing where balustrades, arches, and windows were. Then it

soared higher, and grew broader and brighter. Soon, from a score

of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces

awakened, stared out of fire.

A faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who

were left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding

away. There was spurring and splashing through the darkness,

and bridle was drawn in the space by the village fountain, and the

horse in a foam stood at Monsieur Gabelle’s door. “Help, Gabelle!

Help, every one!” The tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if

that were any) there was none. The mender of roads, and two

hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with f