Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 116: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Alfred de Fosann. 95 ones. The gory head of Francois rolling away from the platform of the guillotine—the disfigured trunk that remained upon the horizontal plank-——the shapeless mass of dead flesh which had fallen at his feet during the riot, and which he knew was the massacred body of Edouard —then the solemn silence of the chamber, the dim flickering of the candle, the dubious shadows it cast upon the wall, and the low respiration of Belle-Rose, who, having changed his position, breathed hard no longer—all these agitated the mind of De Rosann, and expelled every inclination to slumber. ‘‘ This is childish!” he at length exclaimed, as he caught himself looking fearfully round the room after a sudden noise: “I scarcely know what I am doing—to be terrified at the sound of a mouse, or the creaking of the timber—perhaps a beam opening, and evacuating con- fined air, a circumstance which often happens in old houses:”—and he endeavoured to laugh at his folly, but the echo returned his mirth in such dismal reverberations, that they resembled human groans—or at least his fancy. invented the similitude. ‘‘ And there are strangers in the spacious dwelling,” continued he, musing aloud: “ how ridiculous it would be to disturb them with my idle fears. Still this room is lonely— a murderer has slept—that is to say, lodged here; for sleep could not have visited his eyes.— A gentleman and two ladies—in a carriage, with a servant—to condescend to honour these miserable walls with their presence !—It would have been as well had that Louis Dorval not troubled us with his tale about poor Francois—the unfortunate old man, who was betrayed by Edouard, and was guillotined but so short a time ag. Every one sleeps—Belle-Rose sleeps—all eyes in this house are osed save mine; and I cannot sleep. The idea of that old man—with his grey hair—and they did not respect those hoary locks—but they severed his head from his body! And here am I, like the hero of some romance, shut up in a haunted chamber, and afraid of my own shadow: not even like the hero—for the first thing universally done im such situations is to examine the apartment—an operation I have not yet had the courage to perform.” Pleased with the idea, which partially renovated his sinking spirits, De Rosann seized the candle, and walked round the room on tip-toe. On each side of a spacious fire-place were large cupboards, with doors carved in an antique style, standing half opened, and revealing the dusty shelves within. Alfred cast a hasty glance into. the first; but, as he expected, found nothing. He then proceeded to the second, and was about to retire after even a slighter investigation than he had bestowed on the former recess, when a small bundle of papers, entirely covered with dust, met his eyes. A sudden idea struck him—rapidly as the flash of lightning darts across the vaulted heaven. He placed the candle on the mantle-piece, for table there was none; and having assured him- ‘self that Belle-Rose slept, he drew the packet from the corner wherein it lurked. A thick piece of parchment, that had already materially suffered from the damps, enveloped a quantity of papers, many of which were half destroyed by age or vermin: several of them were, however, still legible, and one or two existed entire, having escaped the tooth of the mouse, and the undying hand of time. De Rosann cast a hasty glance over the first that came to hand—the word “ DENNEVILLE” met COMRnIClooo SS (GO)