She was very nervous, and trembled at the slightest
sound--casting hasty, terrified glances round the vast apartment, and
dreading lest an unseen door in some shadowy corner should be softly
opened, or a hidden panel in the wall be slipped aside, to admit her
relentless enemy to her presence. She remembered all the horrible tales
she had ever heard of secret passages and winding staircases in
the walls, that are supposed to abound in ancient castles; and the
mysterious visitants, both human and supernatural, that are said to be
in the habit of issuing from them, in the gloaming, and at midnight.
As the twilight deepened into darkness, her terror increased, and she
nearly fainted from fright when a servant suddenly entered with lights.
While poor Isabelle was suffering such agony in one part of the chateau,
her abductors were having a grand carouse in another. They were to
remain there for a while as a sort of garrison, in case of an attack
by de Sigognac and his friends; and were gathered round the table in
a large room down on the ground floor--as remote as possible from
Isabelle's sumptuous quarters. They were all drinking like sponges, and
making merry over their wine and good cheer, but one of them especially
showed the most remarkable and astounding powers of ingurgitation--it
was the man who had carried off the fair prize before him on his horse;
and, now that the mask was thrown aside, he disclosed to view the
deathly pale face and fiery red nose of Malartic, bosom friend and
"alter ego" of Maitre Jacquemin Lampourde.
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