had another aspect on the day succeeding
that on which I was installed within it. The
rain had descended in torrents ever since,
and none of the dark nooks in which it
abounded looked the livelier for there being
no fire because the huge chimney smoked.
I did not look much at my prospect, but
occupied myself with a pile of folios, which
the liberality of the authorities of Rouen had
supplied me with, for certain researches, from
the richly endowed public library.

I soon began to find that the quiet of my
chamber had not been exaggerated: not a
sound reached me from without, and, except
when I opened the door of the passage which
separated me from the world behind, to
descend into day — which was a rare event —
no distant murmur from the bustling department
on the other side of the court came
upon my ear.

I had been three days in my new domicile.
It was on the third night of my occupancy,
that as I sat reading by two candles placed
in high heavy bronze candlesticks, like those
of an altar, a low sound, as of a person nearly
choked, which seemed to issue from the huge
closet at my back, disturbed my studies. I
started, looked up, and glanced round me into
the dreary space; my hearselike bed, shrouded
by dark red curtains, confined by a coronet
with feathers which had once been gaily gilt,
but was now dim and dingy, stood shadowy
in its recess; my view next took in a
clumsy commode with numerous drawers
and a grey marble top, on which stood a
clock of the period of the Renaissance, rather
a valuable relic, but tarnished and with a
broken face: the cracked porcelain circles
for the numbers that mark the gliding hours,
looking like so many staring inquisitive eyes.
As I marked these things, the voice of my
only companion informed me that it was
eleven o'clock, and as the last sound of the
communication died away I again heard the
same hoarse, unpleasant sound from the
interior of my closet. I got up and opened
the huge panelled door, which gave its
customary creak, but there was nothing within
from whence a sound could have proceeded.
I sat down again, satisfied that the wind
was rising, and that the night would be
stormy.

Presently, I had resumed my reading, and
had become absorbed in the history of Saint
Romain, the popular Saint of Rouen, and the
dragon which he subdued by his prayers,
bound with his scarf, and gave in charge to
the criminal who had consented to accompany
him on his adventure. I read how the saint
and the sinner dragged and lured the scaly
monster along until the bridge over the Seine
was reached, when Saint Romain, seizing the
scarf which possessed holy virtue, suddenly
flung the monster into the river. I paused to
consider how it happened that the imaginative
monk, who invented this legend, should have
forgotten that no bridge of any kind existed
over the Seine at Rouen until more than three
hundred years after the miracle; and my
thoughts fell into a train, representing the
processions of yearly occurrence which, before
the great Revolution, took place in Rouen in
commemoration of the delivery from the
dragon, and the pardon accorded to the
criminal, as still shown in the painted
windows of the Cathedral. The Cathedral itself
next came before my mind as I had seen it in
the morning, when I ventured among the
umbrellas of the curious under the dripping
trees, where the wooden sheds, filled with
wares, are erected throughout the extent of
the Boulevard Bonvreuil : I mentally walked
along the line of toy shops, and hardware,
china, and jewellery, until I paused at the
Rue Chant-Oiseaux, where the old church of
Saint Romain once stood — when again, close
to my ear, the same gurgling sound came, as
if from the keyhole of the great closet. I
got up and stuffed it with paper, but I felt
disturbed and nervous, and, closing my book,
prepared for bed; previously, however, to
retiring, I rang my bell, thinking to obtain
a new supply of candles, as I observed that
both those I had been reading by, were nearly
burnt out, and I felt nervous at the idea of
being without any, in case of not being
able to sleep. But I rang in vain ; not a
creature answered my summons, neither the
cross chambermaid nor the flippant waiter ;
and, after repeating the attempt without
success, I resigned myself to the privation, and
went to bed in the dark.

I had no sooner laid my head on the pillow,
than a most remarkable change suddenly
came over my solitary domicile. First of all,
I heard a door shut with violence, as if at
the end of the passage, where I was not
aware that one existed. Presently there
were confused voices and a heavy step, and
a sound as though something were being
dragged along, until a stoppage took place at
my door. A glimmering light then shone
through the wide crevices, which usually let
more air than was pleasant into my room;
and a rattle, as if an attempt were made to
turn the key, ensued. I recollected, however,
that the key was inside, and that I had turned
it myself before I retired to bed.

I concluded that some newly arrived guest
had mistaken his assigned dormitory, and I
listened no more. But, all at once the
glimmering light again appeared beneath the door
— this time, of the large closet, which slowly
opened, and I clearly and distinctly saw what
seemed to me a man in a cloak, with a broad
hat very much over his eyes, step out, and
raising a lantern in his hand, which however
threw his features into shade, gaze round the
room. I was so amazed that I had no power
to call out; but, still keeping my eyes fixed on
the opening left by my two dark red curtains,
I saw the man walk a few paces towards the
large window, open it cautiously, and descend
the steps which led from it into the garden.