The Room in the Dragon Volant

by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

  Chapter XV

  STRANGE STORY OF THE DRAGON VOLANT

  These _fetes_ were earlier in those days, and in France, than ourmodern balls are in London. I consulted my watch. It was a little pasttwelve.

  It was a still and sultry night; the magnificent suite of rooms, vast assome of them were, could not be kept at a temperature less thanoppressive, especially to people with masks on. In some places the crowdwas inconvenient, and the profusion of lights added to the heat. Iremoved my mask, therefore, as I saw some other people do, who were ascareless of mystery as I. I had hardly done so, and began to breathemore comfortably, when I heard a friendly English voice call me by myname. It was Tom Whistlewick, of the --th Dragoons. He had unmasked,with a very flushed face, as I did. He was one of those Waterloo heroes,new from the mint of glory, whom, as a body, all the world, exceptFrance, revered; and the only thing I knew against him, was a habit ofallaying his thirst, which was excessive at balls, _fetes_, musicalparties, and all gatherings, where it was to be had, with champagne;and, as he introduced me to his friend, Monsieur Carmaignac, I observedthat he spoke a little thick. Monsieur Carmaignac was little, lean, andas straight as a ramrod. He was bald, took snuff, and wore spectacles;and, as I soon learned, held an official position.

  Tom was facetious, sly, and rather difficult to understand, in hispresent pleasant mood. He was elevating his eyebrows and screwing hislips oddly, and fanning himself vaguely with his mask.

  After some agreeable conversation I was glad to observe that hepreferred silence, and was satisfied with the _role_ of listener,as I and Monsieur Carmaignac chatted; and he seated himself, withextraordinary caution and indecision, upon a bench, beside us, andseemed very soon to find a difficulty in keeping his eyes open.

  "I heard you mention," said the French gentleman, "that you had engagedan apartment in the Dragon Volant, about half a league from this. When Iwas in a different police department, about four years ago, two verystrange cases were connected with that house. One was of a wealthy_emigre_, permitted to return to France by the Em--by Napoleon. Hevanished. The other--equally strange--was the case of a Russian of rankand wealth. He disappeared just as mysteriously."

  "My servant," I said, "gave me a confused account of some occurrences,and, as well as I recollect, he described the same persons--I mean areturned French nobleman and a Russian gentleman. But he made the wholestory so marvelous--I mean in the supernatural sense--that, I confess, Idid not believe a word of it."

  "No, there was nothing supernatural; but a great deal inexplicable,"said the French gentleman. "Of course, there may be theories; but thething was never explained, nor, so far as I know, was a ray of lightever thrown upon it."

  "Pray let me hear the story," I said. "I think I have a claim, as itaffects my quarters. You don't suspect the people of the house?"

  "Oh! it has changed hands since then. But there seemed to be a fatalityabout a particular room."

  "Could you describe that room?"

  "Certainly. It is a spacious, paneled bedroom, up one pair of stairs, inthe back of the house, and at the extreme right, as you look from itswindows."

  "Ho! Really? Why, then, I have got the very room!" I said, beginning tobe more interested--perhaps the least bit in the world, disagreeably."Did the people die, or were they actually spirited away?"

  "No, they did not die--they disappeared very oddly. I'll tell you theparticulars--I happen to know them exactly, because I made an officialvisit, on the first occasion, to the house, to collect evidence; andalthough I did not go down there, upon the second, the papers camebefore me, and I dictated the official letter dispatched to therelations of the people who had disappeared; they had applied to thegovernment to investigate the affair. We had letters from the samerelations more than two years later, from which we learned that themissing men had never turned up."

  He took a pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at me.

  "Never! I shall relate all that happened, so far as we could discover.The French noble, who was the Chevalier Chateau Blassemare, unlike most_emigres_ had taken the matter in time, sold a large portion of hisproperty before the revolution had proceeded so far as to render thatnext to impossible, and retired with a large sum. He brought with himabout half a million of francs, the greater part of which he invested inthe French funds; a much larger sum remained in Austrian land andsecurities. You will observe then that this gentleman was rich, andthere was no allegation of his having lost money, or being in any wayembarrassed. You see?"

  I assented.

  "This gentleman's habits were not expensive in proportion to his means.He had suitable lodgings in Paris; and for a time, society, andtheaters, and other reasonable amusements, engrossed him. He did notplay. He was a middleaged man, affecting youth, with the vanities whichare usual in such persons; but, for the rest, he was a gentle and politeperson, who disturbed nobody--a person, you see, not likely to provokean enmity."

  "Certainly not," I agreed.

  "Early in the summer of 1811 he got an order permitting him to copya picture in one of these _salons_, and came down here, toVersailles, for the purpose. His work was getting on slowly. After atime he left his hotel here, and went, by way of change, to the DragonVolant; there he took, by special choice, the bedroom which has fallento you by chance. From this time, it appeared, he painted little; andseldom visited his apartments in Paris. One night he saw the host of theDragon Volant, and told him that he was going into Paris, to remain fora day or two, on very particular business; that his servant wouldaccompany him, but that he would retain his apartments at the DragonVolant, and return in a few days. He left some clothes there, but packeda portmanteau, took his dressing case and the rest, and, with hisservant behind his carriage, drove into Paris. You observe all this,Monsieur?"

  "Most attentively," I answered.

  "Well, Monsieur, as soon as they were approaching his lodgings, hestopped the carriage on a sudden, told his servant that he had changedhis mind; that he would sleep elsewhere that night, that he had veryparticular business in the north of France, not far from Rouen, that hewould set out before daylight on his journey, and return in a fortnight.He called a _fiacre_, took in his hand a leather bag which, theservant said, was just large enough to hold a few shirts and a coat, butthat it was enormously heavy, as he could testify, for he held it in hishand, while his master took out his purse to count thirty-six Napoleons,for which the servant was to account when he should return. He then senthim on, in the carriage; and he, with the bag I have mentioned, got intothe _fiacre_. Up to that, you see, the narrative is quite clear."

  "Perfectly," I agreed.

  "Now comes the mystery," said Monsieur Carmaignac. "After that, theCount Chateau Blassemare was never more seen, so far as we can make out,by acquaintance or friend. We learned that the day before the Count'sstockbroker had, by his direction, sold all his stock in the Frenchfunds, and handed him the cash it realized. The reason he gave him forthis measure tallied with what he said to his servant. He told him thathe was going to the north of France to settle some claims, and did notknow exactly how much might be required. The bag, which had puzzled theservant by its weight, contained, no doubt, a large sum in gold. WillMonsieur try my snuff?"

  He politely tendered his open snuff-box, of which I partook,experimentally.

  "A reward was offered," he continued, "when the inquiry was instituted,for any information tending to throw a light upon the mystery, whichmight be afforded by the driver of the _fiacre_ 'employed on thenight of' (so-and-so), 'at about the hour of half-past ten, by agentleman, with a black-leather bag-bag in his hand, who descended froma private carriage, and gave his servant some money, which he countedtwice over.' About a hundred-and-fifty drivers applied, but not one ofthem was the right man. We did, however, elicit a curious and unexpectedpiece of evidence in quite another quarter. What a racket that plagueyharlequin makes with his sword!"

  "Intolerable!" I chimed in.

  The harlequin was soon gone, and he resumed.

/>   "The evidence I speak of came from a boy, about twelve years old, whoknew the appearance of the Count perfectly, having been often employedby him as a messenger. He stated that about half-past twelve o'clock, onthe same night--upon which you are to observe, there was a brilliantmoon--he was sent, his mother having been suddenly taken ill, for the_sage femme_ who lived within a stone's throw of the Dragon Volant.His father's 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 ofthe Cheteau de la Carque, at the site most remote from the point towhich he was going. It passes the old churchyard of St. Aubin, which isseparated from the road only by a very low fence, and two or threeenormous old trees. The boy was a little nervous as he approached thisancient cemetery; and, under the bright moonlight, he saw a man whom hedistinctly recognized as the Count, whom they designated by a sobriquetwhich means 'the man of smiles.' He was looking rueful enough now, andwas seated on the side of a tombstone, on which he had laid a pistol,while he was ramming home the charge of another.

  "The boy got cautiously by, on tiptoe, with his eyes all the time on theCount Chateau Blassernare, or the man he mistook for him--his dress wasnot what he usually wore, but the witness swore that he could not bemistaken 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 thelast time he was seen. He has never been heard of since. Nothing couldbe heard of him in the neighborhood of Rouen. There has been no evidenceof his death; and there is no sign that he is living."

  "That certainly is a most singular case," I replied, and was about toask a question or two, when Tom Whistlewick who, without my observingit, had been taking a ramble, returned, a great deal more awake, and agreat deal less tipsy.

  "I say, Carmaignac, it is getting late, and I must go; I really must,for the reason I told you--and, Beckett, we must soon meet again."

  "I regret very much, Monsieur, my not being able at present to relate toyou the other case, that of another tenant of the very same room--a casemore mysterious and sinister than the last--and which occurred in theautumn of the same year."

  "Will you both do a very good-natured thing, and come and dine with meat the Dragon Volant tomorrow?"

  So, as we pursued our way along the Galerie des Glaces, I extractedtheir promise.

  "By Jove!" said Whistlewick, when this was done; "look 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 can't imagine how they tell fortunes sodevilish well. Jack Nuffles--I met him here tonight--says they aregypsies--where are they, I wonder? I'll go over and have a peep at theprophet."

  I saw him plucking at the blinds, which were constructed something onthe principle of Venetian blinds; the red curtains were inside; but theydid not yield, and he could only peep under one that did not come quitedown.

  When he rejoined us, he related: "I could scarcely see the old fellow,it's so dark. He is covered with gold and red, and has an embroideredhat on like a mandarin's; he's fast asleep; and, by Jove, he smells likea polecat! It's worth going over only to have it to say. Fiew! pooh! oh!It is a perfume. Faugh!"

  Not caring to accept this tempting invitation, we got along slowlytoward the door. I bade them good-night, reminding them of theirpromise. And so found my way at last to my carriage; and was soonrolling slowly toward the Dragon Volant, on the loneliest of roads,under old trees, and the soft moonlight.

  What a number of things had happened within the last two hours! what avariety of strange and vivid pictures were crowded together in thatbrief space! What an adventure was before me!

  The silent, moonlighted, solitary road, how it contrasted with themany-eddied whirl of pleasure from whose roar and music, lights,diamonds and colors I had just extricated myself.

  The sight of lonely nature at such an hour, acts like a sudden sedative.The madness and guilt of my pursuit struck me with a momentarycompunction and horror. I wished I had never entered the labyrinth whichwas leading me, I knew not whither. It was too late to think of thatnow; but the bitter was already stealing into my cup; and vagueanticipations lay, for a few minutes, heavy on my heart. It would nothave taken much to make me disclose my unmanly state of mind to mylively friend Alfred Ogle, nor even to the milder ridicule of theagreeable Tom Whistlewick.