The streets had long been empty and deserted, for the good people of the
ancient and respectable town of Poitiers go early to bed. Leander did
not meet a living creature, excepting a few forlorn, homeless cats,
prowling about and bewailing themselves in a melancholy way, that fled
before him, and vanished round dark corners or in shadowy doorways. Our
gallant reached the open square designated by the little page just as
the last stroke of twelve was vibrating in the still night air. It gave
him a shudder; a superstitious sensation of horror took possession of
him, and he felt as if he had heard the tolling of his own funeral bell.
For an instant he was on the point of rushing back, and seeking quiet,
safe repose in his comfortable bed at the Armes de France, but was
arrested by the sight of the carriage standing there waiting for him,
with the tiny page himself in attendance, perched on the step and
holding the door open for him. So he was obliged to go on--for few
people in this strange world of ours have the courage to be cowardly
before witnesses--and instinctively acting a part, he advanced with a
deliberate and dignified bearing, that gave no evidence of the inward
fear and agitation that had set his heart beating as if it would burst
out of his breast, and sent strong shivers over him from his head to his
feet.
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