carry my reader back to the period of my life at which I first met the Chevalier des Grieux. This was some six months prior to my departure for Spain. Although I rarely emerged from my retirement, deference to the wishes of my daughter occasionally led me to undertake various little expeditions, which I was in the habit of making as short as possible.
I chanced one day to be returning from Rouen, whither I had gone at her request to attend the trial of a cause before the Parliament of Normandy, which involved the right of succession to an estate bequeathed to me by my grandfather on the maternal side, and my title to which I had made over to her. Having retraced my steps by way of Evreux, where I slept the first night, I arrived the next day in time for dinner at Passy, which is some five or six leagues further on. On entering this town I was surprised to observe a general commotion among its inhabitants. They were hurrying out of their houses and running in a crowd to the door of a wretched hostelry, in front of which were standing two covered wagons. From the appearance of the horses, which were still in harness, and reeking from the heat and fatigue of their journey, I surmised that the two vehicles had only just arrived.
I stopped a moment to inquire the cause of the tumult, but could obtain little enlightenment from the inquisitive crowd, who paid no heed to my questions, but went on pushing and fighting among themselves in their eagerness to reach the inn. At last an archer, wearing a cross-belt and carrying his musket on his shoulder, made his appearance at the door. Beckoning him towards me, I asked him to tell me what was occasioning all this hubbub.
"Nothing, sir," he replied, "nothing but a dozen girls of the town whom I and my comrades are taking to Havre-de-Grace, where we are going to put them aboard ship for America. There are some pretty ones among them, and that, apparently, is what excites the curiosity of these good country-folk."
I should have passed on after this explanation, had not my attention been arrested by the exclamations of an old woman, who came out of the inn wringing her hands and crying that she could not bear to see such horrible barbarity, it was enough to excite the pity of any one but a savage.
"What is amiss?" I asked her.
"Oh, sir!" she replied, "go in yonder and see if 'tis not a heart-rending sight."
Urged by curiosity I dismounted, leaving my horse to the care of my groom. I had some difficulty in effecting an entrance, but pushing my way through the crowd, I beheld, in truth, a most touching spectacle.
Among the twelve girls who were chained together by their waists in two groups of six each, was one whose face and whole appearance were so little in keeping with her present situation that under any other circumstances I should have taken her to be a person of the highest rank.
The sadness of her expression, and her soiled and bedraggled dress, detracted so little from her beauty, that I was filled with pity and respect as I looked at her. She endeavored, however, to turn herself away as far as her chain would allow, in order to conceal her face from the gaze of the bystanders. There was something so unaffected in her efforts to hide herself, that they seemed to be prompted by an innate sense of modesty.
The six guards who were in charge of this unhappy band being also in the room, I drew aside the one who was in command, and asked him to give me some account of how this lovely girl had met with such a fate. He could do so only in a very general way.
"We took her from the Hôpital," said he, "by order of the Lieutenant-General of Police. She was not shut up there as a reward for good conduct, that is certain. I have questioned her several times on our way here, but she obstinately refuses to reply. I received no orders to treat her more kindly than the others; but for all that I have shown her some consideration, because she appears to me a trifle better than her companions. Yonder is a young man," added the archer, "who may be able to tell you more than I can concerning the cause of her disgrace. He has followed her all the way from Paris, and has scarcely stopped weeping for a moment. He must be her brother, or her lover."
I turned toward the corner of the room where the young man was sitting. He appeared to be buried in deep thought. I never beheld a more striking picture of grief. He was very simply dressed; but it did not require a second glance to perceive that he was a man of birth and education. He rose as I approached him, and his features, his expression, and his every movement bore the mark of such refinement and nobility that I felt myself instinctively drawn towards him.