inking he heard the
ringing of bells, the roar of cannon, and the roll of drums. His brain
was full of mournful strains and inauspicious sounds; he lived no longer
as a man, but his fever kept him up, he flew as it were in the air.

On, and still on. About eight o'clock at night he perceived Nantes at
length upon the horizon, like a dark mass from out the midst of which
some scattered lights were shining starlike in the gloom.

He tried to breathe, and thinking his cravat was choking him, he tore it
off and threw it on the road.

Thus, mounted on his black horse, wrapped in his black cloak, and long
ago bareheaded (his hat had fallen off), Gaston was like some fiendish
cavalier bound to the witches' Sabbath.

On reaching the gates of Nantes his horse stumbled, but Gaston did not
lose his stirrups, pulled him up sharply, and driving the spurs into his
sides, he made him recover himself.

The night was dark, no one appeared upon the ramparts, the very
sentinels were hidden in the gloom, it seemed like a deserted city.

But as he passed the gate a sentinel said something which Gaston did not
even hear.

He held on his way.

At the Rue du Chateau his horse stumbled and fell, this time to rise no
more.

What mattered it to Gaston now?--he had arrived. On he went on foot--his
limbs were strained and deadened, yet he felt no fatigue, he held the
paper crumpled in his hand.

One thing, however, astonished him, and that was meeting no one in so
populous a quarter.

As he advanced, however, he heard a sullen murmur coming from the Place
de Bouffay, as he passed before a long street which led into that
_Place_.

There was a sea of heads, lit up by flaring lights; but Gaston passed
on--his business was at the castle--and the sight disappeared.

At last he saw the castle--he saw the door gaping wide before him. The
sentinel on guard upon the drawbridge tried to stop him; but Gaston, his
order in his hand, pushed him roughly aside and entered the inner door.

Men were talking, and one of them wiping his tears off as he talked.

Gaston understood it all.

"A reprieve!" he cried, "a re--"

The word died upon his lips; but the men had done better than hear, they
had seen his despairing gesture.

"Go, go!" they cried, showing him the way, "go! and, perhaps you may yet
arrive in time."

And they themselves dispersed in all directions. Gaston pursued his way;
he traversed a corridor, then some empty rooms, then the