The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 256: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 245 It was noon, on the second day after the oom- mittal of the prisoners; aod De Margaux was walking alone inthe court-yard: for it had been ordered that he should be prevented from holding any communication with the members of his band ; and therefore at the time that he took exercise in the yard his subordinate accomplices were secured in their own cells. The authorities naturally in- ferred that the chief whose desperate character and intelligence had succeeded in organising such a band, and so long eluding not merely the grasp but even the suspicion of justice, must be a person of no ordinary resources; and therefore that if be were allowed opportunities to communicate with his followers, he would most probably devise the means of escape. De Margaux was therefore walking alone in the court-yard and at the time we have specified. A chain encircled his waist; and thereto were at- tached irons, which descending as far as his ancles, were there fettered by rings. His hands were free ; and it will be understood that the nature of the fetters, however inconvenient to wear, did not prevent locomotion. The criminal had already well studied every detail of that portion of the prison in which he was confined; and while pacing to and fro in the court-yard, he was revolving in his thoughts various projects of escape. The windows of sevaral other compartments of the prison looked upon two adjacent court-yards; and amongst those windows were the casements belonging to the apart- ments of one of the turnkeys. As De Margaux happened to be looking in that direction, he was struck by the appcarance of a young woman, who from a jug was pouring water upon some flowers placed upon the sill. She was not above two-and- twenty—and if not actually handsome nor even pretty, was at least possessed of an interesting countenance. She had a fine pair of dark eyes ; and as she smilingly nodded at her father who was engeged in the court-yard below—the one next to that where De Margaux was walking— her cherry lips revealed a very brilliant set of teeth. She was dressed with a certain ooquet- tishness,—the invariable taste of a Frenchwoman having done its best to give effect to even the plainest apparel. De Margaux—whose keen in- tellect was ever ready to seizo upon the slightest circumstance which by any possibility could be tarned tu his own advantage—raised his hat and made the most courteous bow to the turnkey’s daughter. Finette—for such was the dameel’s name—had not before noticed the tall handsome gentlemanly captive; nor did she koow for what crime he was imprisoned there. She was struck with his appearance and fiattergd by his courtesy: a blush rose to her cheeks as she returned the bow. Her father, happening to glance up at the mo- ment, caught her thus nodding to some one; and he exclaimed, “Finette, whom are you n0- ticing ?”’ This question was put loud enough to catch the ears of De Margaux in the next yard; and Finette, abashed, retired from the window. Her father—a stout, burly, as well as somewhat ill- luoking man, and of rather a stern disposition — hastened up to the apartment, and angrily re- peated the question. Finette was frightened, and gave no response. The turnkey glanced from the window; and perceiving De Margaux, at once comprehended that he must have been the object of his daughter's interest. “Wretched girl!” he exolaimed, turning angrily —indeed almost ferociously round upon Finette; “do you know to whom you were bowing? That man, for all his gentlemanly looks, is one of the greatest miscreants that ever came within these walls. He is a murderer |” ‘A murderer, father P” cried Finette. “It is impossible! A gentleman with such a distin- guished air—such a mien———” ~“T tell you, girl, that he is a marderer,” inter- jected theturnkey. “If you had not been staying at your aunt’s the day he and his comrades arrived, you would have seen the sensation their presence in the town created.” “ But he is not yet tried, father?” said Finette inquiringly. “No. But why do you ask the question?” exclaimed the turnkey. “ Because it may perhaps be proved that he is falsely charged, and is not so wicked afterall. Do you not remember the Marquis who was accused of poisoning his wife, and whose case at first looked so black, but whose innocence was made manifest after all? And do you not recollect like- wise the young gentleman that was charged with forgery—-a mere boy of one-and-twenty? I told you that I could not believe him to be guilty: you declared that he was; and yet on the day of trial he was acquitted, and the real culprit took his place in the dock. So i¢ may be with that gentleman,” added Finette: “ because 7 “ Hold your tongue, girl,” interrupted her father. “It is only because he is good-looking, well-dressed, and of fine manners, that you jump at the conclusion of his innocence. I wonder what the world will come to next! Handsome men can never be guilty in your estimation! If your mother were alive, she would have taught you dif- ferently; and it is a pity that I have not time to look more after you. If you go on in this way I shall send you altogether to your aunt in the country——” “ No, my dear-father,” said Finette, cajolingly, as she threw her arms round his neck, “ you will not send me away, because who could attend to your housekeeping P”’ “Ah! if it weren't for that,” said the man, “it would be different. But no matter! I beg of you, Finette, not to notice prisoners from the window again: and this injunction is all the more necessary, because, as you know, I am going out for a half-holiday, and you will be here by your- self.” , Thus ended the conversation between the father and daughter: but Finette’s reflections on the same subject were not similarly concluded. She could not possibly persuade herself that the man of such distinguished appearance, of such im- posing demeanour, with such dark hair, and so well caltivated a moustache, was @ murderer. There was a greit deal of romance—the foolish portion of romance, we mean—in the girl’s dispo- sition: every volume in the nearest circulating library hac been greedily devoured by her; and in every well-dressed, handsome, prepossessing captive she invariably beheld a victim, a martyr, or a hero. COMME HOG cS) (CO