"What can be the matter with poor old Miraut? He usually sleeps from
sunset to sunrise without making a sound, save his snores. Can it be
that a wolf is prowling about the place?" said the young man to
himself, as he buckled the belt of his sword round his slender waist.
A formidable weapon it was, that sword, with long blade, and heavy iron
scabbard.
At that moment three loud knocks upon the great outer door resounded
through the house. Who could possibly have strayed here at this hour, so
far from the travelled roads, and in this tempest that was making
night horrible without? No such thing had occurred within the baron's
recollection. What could it portend?
CHAPTER II. THE CHARIOT OF THESPIS
The Baron de Sigognac went down the broad staircase without a moment's
delay to answer this mysterious summons, protecting with his hand the
feeble flame of the small lamp he carried from the many draughts that
threatened to blow it out. The light, shining through his slender
fingers, gave them a rosy tinge, so that he merited the epithet applied
by Homer, the immortal bard, to the laughing, beautiful Aurora, even
though he advanced through the thick darkness with his usual melancholy
mien, and followed by a black cat, instead of preceding the glorious god
of day.
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