Look forth, look forth, my darling,
To see us now there’s none;
The mastiff at me snarling
I solaced with a bone:
From castle top to basement,
Save you, all are asleep,
Then from the opened casement
My dear Isolda peep.
“What are you doing here at this time of night, Albert?” asked the lady.
“Well!” answered Albert, “considering that you told me to come, you will excuse me if I confess that I am somewhat surprised at the question.”
“Propriety compels me to be unconscious of such an invitation. As, however, you are here, I can acquaint you with the plans I have formed for effecting my elopement with you. You know Yeux-de-Groseilles?”
“Yes, he is the greatest fool I know.”
“He may be. He has, however, done me the honour to fall in love with me.”
“Then he has more sense than I supposed he had.”
“My father destines him to be my husband, but has not yet broken the matter to him, and Yeux-de-Groseilles is wrongly impressed with the idea that my father does not favour his suit. He has also committed the mistake of supposing that I am favourable to him. I have told him that I will meet him to-morrow evening, at dusk, at the chapel some little distance from the castle. Now, what do you think I intend to do?”
“I know what I intend to do,” replied Albert, “and that is to kick Yeux-de-Groseilles.”
“Stupid fellow! I will tell you no more of my schemes than is absolutely necessary. Be here to-morrow evening, with two horses, at the time when I am to meet Yeux-de-Groseilles, but not at the same place. Wait for me under the trees at the eastern end of the castle. And now begone as softly as you can.”
With that she shut the window.
Albert walked away as stealthily as he could—but in vain. The mastiff had finished the bone, and now barked ungratefully at the donor of it. The porter, awakened, got up to kick the dog. As he proceeded for this purpose, he came across Albert, who immediately knocked him down. But the porter being fat and heavy, his fall caused such a concussion to the whole castle, that the Baron de Grandmarais’s terrified retainers, starting from their sleep, rushed to the spot to learn what was the matter. Seeing Albert, they instantly secured him, and consigned him to the Baron’s hereditary dungeon.
Next morning, the Baron de Grandmarais, surnamed Long-nez, from the extraordinary length of his proboscis, was breakfasting in a manner suitable to his position and the period in which he lived. A vast sirloin of beef (which had not then received the honour of knighthood) occupied with dignity the right of the board; a venison pasty adorned the centre, and a boar’s head frowned sternly on the left. Nor were liquors befitting such viands wanting. On the right hand of the Baron stood a huge flagon of Rhenish, on his left an equally capacious tankard of ale.
The Baron was engaged in discharging another important duty besides that of breakfasting. He was holding a court, and exercising his judicial functions, which were indefinite in power. Beneath him sat his steward, who acted as clerk, with writing materials before him, not for use, but in order to give a kind of dignity to the proceedings. Before the Baron stood the culprit—the same that was captured the night before—whose dress and manners seemed to show that in station he was little, if at all, the inferior of his judge. About the room stood the Baron’s servants, who were there in the capacity either of witnesses or guards.
The porter and some of the servants were examined as to the circumstances of the discovery and seizure of the prisoner; and after them was put forward Hugo, another servant, who, partly from his natural fear of the Baron, and partly from a guilty consciousness that he had been fast asleep all night, and therefore knew nothing at all about the matter, waited with great trepidation to give his evidence.
“Do you recognise the prisoner as the man who was sneaking about the castle last night?” said the Baron, addressing Hugo.
“Yes.”
“Did you see him last night?” timidly interposed the steward.
“No.”
“Would you have recognised him if you had seen him?” urged the Baron.
“Yes.”
“Very well! it’s all the same,” said the Baron, darting a reproachful glance at his officious steward.
The Baron, having now heard all the evidence, clothed his countenance with a look of the greatest gravity and importance, preparatory to pronouncing sentence.
The steward, observing him put on this look, hastened to whisper that it might be more regular to ask the prisoner if he had anything to say.
On this the Baron, with no great willingness, altered the judicial expression of his countenance, and asked the prisoner for his explanation.
“I am Albert de Chose,” was the reply, “nearly your equal in rank and power. I shall not tell you why I am here; but it is absurd to suppose that I came here for your spoons. If you inflict any punishment or degradation on me, you will repent it.”
The Baron turned to the steward and said peevishly:
“I knew how it would be: if I had heard only one side I should have had no difficulty in deciding, but now I am amazingly perplexed.”
He pished, he pshawed; he looked up to the ceiling and down to the floor. He shook his weighty head, and laid his right forefinger along-