It was a hot summer night, and the glass
doors opening upon the luxuriant garden stood wide to admit the
air. On that air came intermittently from the distance sounds of
the continuing horrible activities of the populace, the aftermath
of that bloody day.
Mme. de Plougastel lay there, listening to those sounds for upwards
of an hour, thanking Heaven that for the present at least the
disturbances were distant, dreading lest at any moment they should
occur nearer at hand, lest this Bondy section in which her hotel
was situated should become the scene of horrors similar to those
whose echoes reached her ears from other sections away to the south
and west.
The couch occupied by the Countess lay in shadow; for all the lights
in that long salon had been extinguished with the exception of a
cluster of candles in a massive silver candle branch placed on a
round marquetry table in the middle of the room - an island of light
in the surrounding gloom.
The timepiece on the overmantel chimed melodiously the hour of ten,
and then, startling in the suddenness with which it broke the
immediate silence, another sound vibrated through the house, and
brought madame to her feet, in a breathless mingling of hope and
dread.
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