Tales of a Traveller

with her female attendants en croupe behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her; and scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum.
    “While the Duchess,” continued the Marquis, laying his forefinger on my uncle’s breast to arouse his flagging attention, “while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused some uneasiness; for the clattering of a troop of horse, at dead of night, up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to occasion alarm.
    “A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. The household turned out with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into the court. Such pale, care-worn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind her cavalier; while half drenched, half drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue.
    “The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my ancestors. She was ushered into the Hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself and her train; and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare ample refreshments for the wayfarers.
    “She had a right to our hospitalities,” continued the little Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, “for she was related to our family. I’ll tell you how it was: Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Condé—”
    “But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?” said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis’s genealogical discussions.
    “Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the apartment you occupied last night; which, at that time, was a kind of state apartment. Her followers were quartered in the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor, and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur, who had announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow, and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of defending the castle with his single arm.
    “It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the year.— Apropos —now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family.” Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eyebrows. “There is a tradition—that a strange occurrence took place that night—a strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence.”
    Here he checked himself and paused.
    “Did it relate to that lady?” inquired my uncle, eagerly.
    “It was past the hour of midnight,” resumed the Marquis—“when the whole chateau—”
    Here he paused again—my uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity.
    “Excuse me,” said the Marquis—a slight blush streaking his sullen visage. “There are some circumstances connected with our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes among great men: for you know high blood, when it runs wrong, will not run tamely like blood of the canaille —poor lady!—But I have a little family pride, that—excuse me—we will change the subject if you please.”—
    My uncle’s curiosity was piqued. The pompous and magnificent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being a traveller, in quest of information, considered it his duty to inquire into every thing.
    The Marquis, however, evaded every question.
    “Well,” said my uncle, a little petulantly, “whatever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night.”
    The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise.
    “She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber.”
    The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and a smile; taking it no doubt for an awkward piece of English pleasantry, which politeness required him