The Midnight Queen [117]
he spoke, and that
argument proved irresistible. Grumbling, in low tones, the
anatomy stalked up-stairs; and the other followed, with very
different feelings from those with which he had mounted that
staircase last. His guide paused in the hall above, with his
hand on the latch of a door.
"This is her private room, is it!" demanded Sir Norman.
"Yes."
"Just stand aside, then, and let me pass."
The room he entered was small, simply furnished, and seemed to
answer as bed-chamber and study, all in one. There was a
writing-table under a window, covered with books, and he glanced
at them with some curiosity. They were classics, Greek and
Latin, and other little known tongues - perhaps Sanscrit and
Chaldaic, French belles lettres, novels, and poetry, and a few
rare old English books. There were no papers, however, and those
were what he was in search of; so spying a drawer in the table,
he pulled it hastily open. The eight that met his eyes fairly
dazzled him. It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and
value, strewn as carelessly about as if they were valueless. The
blaze of gems at the midnight court seemed to him as nothing
compared with the Golconda, the Valley of Diamonds shooting forth
sparks of rainbow-fire before him now. Around one magnificent
diamond necklace was entwined a scrap of paper, on which was
written:
"The family jewels of the Montmorencis. To be given to my
sisters when I am dead."
That settled their destiny. All this blaze of diamonds, rubies,
and opals were Leoline's; and with the energetic rapidity
characteristic of our young friend that morning, he swept them
out on the table, and resumed his search for papers. No document
was there to reward his search, but the brief one twined round
the necklace; and he was about giving up in despair, when a small
brass slide in one corner caught his eye. Instantly he was at
it, trying it every way, shoving it out and in, and up and down,
until at last it yielded to his touch, disclosing an inner
drawer, full of papers and parchments. One glance showed them to
be what he was in search of - proofs of Leoline and Hubert's
identity, with the will of the marquis, their father, and
numerous other documents relative to his wealth and estates.
These precious manuscripts he rolled together in a bundle, and
placed carefully in his doublet, and then seizing a
beautifully-wrought brass casket, that stood beneath the table,
he swept the jewels in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt.
This brisk and important little affair being over, he arose to
go, and in turning, saw the skeleton porter standing in the
door-way, looking on in speechless dismay.
"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely.
"These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their
proper owner."
"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La
Masque. Thief-robber-housebreaker - stop!"
"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl
like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they
are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things
that were!"
"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and
anger. "Help! help! help!"
"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I
will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as
this. I tell you La Masque is dead!"
At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and
became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.
"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy
sternness,"and there will be somebody else coming to take
possession shortly. How many more servants are there here beside
yourself?"
"Only one, sir - my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not
turn us out in the streets at this dreadful time!"
"Not I! You and your wife
argument proved irresistible. Grumbling, in low tones, the
anatomy stalked up-stairs; and the other followed, with very
different feelings from those with which he had mounted that
staircase last. His guide paused in the hall above, with his
hand on the latch of a door.
"This is her private room, is it!" demanded Sir Norman.
"Yes."
"Just stand aside, then, and let me pass."
The room he entered was small, simply furnished, and seemed to
answer as bed-chamber and study, all in one. There was a
writing-table under a window, covered with books, and he glanced
at them with some curiosity. They were classics, Greek and
Latin, and other little known tongues - perhaps Sanscrit and
Chaldaic, French belles lettres, novels, and poetry, and a few
rare old English books. There were no papers, however, and those
were what he was in search of; so spying a drawer in the table,
he pulled it hastily open. The eight that met his eyes fairly
dazzled him. It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and
value, strewn as carelessly about as if they were valueless. The
blaze of gems at the midnight court seemed to him as nothing
compared with the Golconda, the Valley of Diamonds shooting forth
sparks of rainbow-fire before him now. Around one magnificent
diamond necklace was entwined a scrap of paper, on which was
written:
"The family jewels of the Montmorencis. To be given to my
sisters when I am dead."
That settled their destiny. All this blaze of diamonds, rubies,
and opals were Leoline's; and with the energetic rapidity
characteristic of our young friend that morning, he swept them
out on the table, and resumed his search for papers. No document
was there to reward his search, but the brief one twined round
the necklace; and he was about giving up in despair, when a small
brass slide in one corner caught his eye. Instantly he was at
it, trying it every way, shoving it out and in, and up and down,
until at last it yielded to his touch, disclosing an inner
drawer, full of papers and parchments. One glance showed them to
be what he was in search of - proofs of Leoline and Hubert's
identity, with the will of the marquis, their father, and
numerous other documents relative to his wealth and estates.
These precious manuscripts he rolled together in a bundle, and
placed carefully in his doublet, and then seizing a
beautifully-wrought brass casket, that stood beneath the table,
he swept the jewels in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt.
This brisk and important little affair being over, he arose to
go, and in turning, saw the skeleton porter standing in the
door-way, looking on in speechless dismay.
"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely.
"These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their
proper owner."
"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La
Masque. Thief-robber-housebreaker - stop!"
"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl
like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they
are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things
that were!"
"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and
anger. "Help! help! help!"
"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I
will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as
this. I tell you La Masque is dead!"
At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and
became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.
"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy
sternness,"and there will be somebody else coming to take
possession shortly. How many more servants are there here beside
yourself?"
"Only one, sir - my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not
turn us out in the streets at this dreadful time!"
"Not I! You and your wife