Alfred; or, The Adventures of a French Gentleman — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

OF A FRENCH GENTLEMAN. 93 father instantly invited the stranger to enter—sate him down to as good a supper as the house afforded—and, when his meal was concluded, showed him to the identical chamber which gave rise to this tale. Eariy on the following morning the house was surrounded by gendarmes, and the stranger was taken prisoner. It appears that he had committed a most horrible murder on the person of some nobleman at Paris—” ‘¢ Was not his name Francois?” exclaimed De Rosann, thrown en- tirely off his guard by the resemblance which this singular tale bore to the one he had heard narrated at Brest,and recollecting the circumstance of the deceased malefactor having lodged at a farm-house in the neigh- bourhood of St. Malo. ‘¢ That was his name,” returned the farmer, casting a searching glance at Alfred, who now noticed his inadvertency, and became red with con- fusion. «We were reading of this very trial a day or two ago, in an old number of some journal,” said Belle-Rose hastily : ‘‘ but pray proceed ; your account tallies exactly with that which we perused in the news- paper.” ‘* There is but little more to add,” continued the farmer, from whose mind all suspicion—had he for a moment entertained any—was entirely banished by the address of Belle-Rose. “ The stranger was conveyed to prison, and was condemned to expiate his crime at the galleys for lite. Since that moment the apartment he occupied has been closed up; for my father, who was somewhat superstitious, declared that the ghost of the murdered nobleman would not fail to haunt it on the anniversary of the day when Francois was arrested by the gendarmes.” «¢ Has it never been opened?” inquired De Rosann. ‘ Once or twice I have myself visited it, to show my wife that I am not afraid of ghosts or spirits,’ answered the farmer; “ but as the house is large enough for my small family, and for an occasional tra- veller or friend, I have never thought of turning the chamber to any use. ’ “ Well,” cried Belle-Rose, rising from his chair, “if you will have the goodness to conduct us to the haunted apartment, I will soon show you that my courage is not to be intimidated by the ghosts of all the mur- dered counts and marquises in France. But ere | receive any more favours at your hands, my worthy host, will you excuse me if I be im- pertinent in asking your name ?” ‘‘ Louis Dorval, at your service,” returned the farmer. ‘I shall not forget it,” said Belle-Rose. “ Let us now proceed to the mysterious chamber.” Dorval—since the reader is at present acquainted with the name of the hospitable farmer—took the candlestick in his hand, and conducted his two guests up a narrow staircase that terminated in a gallery, along one side of which were windows lcoking into a yard at the back of the house, and on the other were the doors of the various bedchambers. At the end of the corridor was the apartment destined to receive De Ro- sann and Belle-Rose. The lock for some time resisted the strong hand of Dorval; but it eventually yielded to the rusty key, and the travellers followed their guide into the haunted room. It was large and airy ; the ceiling was somewhat discoloured here and there with damps, which the EOMICLOOKSa CO