The Mysteries of the Court of London Vol. 7 — page 258: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

' Jt wae noon, on the second dey after the eom- mittal of the prisoners; and De ux Was walking alone inthe court-yard: for it had been qrdered that he should be prevented from ho any communication with the members of his ; and therefore at the time that he took exercise in the yard his subotdinate aecomplices were secured in their own cells. The authoritics naturally in- férred that the ,chief whose desperate character and intelligence had succeeded in organising such a band, and eo long eluding not merely the grasp but even the suspicion of justice, must be « person | guished ordinary of no resources; and therefore that if he were allowed opportunitie? to communicate with his followers, he would most probably devise the means of escape. De Margaux was therefore walking alone in the court-yard and at the time we have specified. A chain encircled his waist; and thereto were at-| i tached irons, which descending as far as his ancles, were there fettered by rings. Hie thands were free ; and it will be understood that the nature of the fetters, however inconyenient to wear, did not prevent locomotion. The criminal had qJready well atudied every detail of that portion of the prison in which he was confined; and while pacing to and fro in the court-yard, he was revolving in his thoughts various projedts of escape. The windows of sevaral other compastmentes of the prison looked upon two adjacent court-yards; and amongst those windows were the casoments belonging to the apart- ments of one of the turnkeys. As De Margaur happened to be looking in that direction, he was struck by the appearance of a young woman, who from a jug was pouring water upon some flowers placed upon the sill. She was not above two-and- twenty—and if not actually handsome nor even pretty, was at least possessed of an interesting countenance. She had a fine pair of dark eyes; and as,she smilingly nodded at her father who was engaged in the court-yard below—the one next te that where De Margaux was walking— her cherry lips revealed a very Brilliant set of teeth. She was dressed with m certain coquet- tishness,—the invariable taste of a Frenchwoman having done its best to give effect to even the plainest apparel. Do Margaux—whose keen in- tellect was ever ready to seize upon the slightest circumstance which by any possibility could be turned to his own advantage—raised his hat and made the’ most courteous bow to the turnkey’s daughter. Finette—for such was the dhmsel’s name—had not before noticed the tall handsome gentlemanly captive; nor did she know for what crime he was imprisoned there. She was struck with his appearance and flattered by bis courtesy: a blush rose to her cheeks as she returned the bow. Her father, happening to glance up at the mo- ment, caught her thus nodding to some one; and be neaimeds “Finette, whom are you no- ticing P”’ This question was put loud enough to cateh the ears of De Margaux in the next yard; and Finette, abashed, retired from the window. Her father—a stout, burly, as well as somewhat ill- looking man, and of rather a stern disposition— hasteried up to the apartment, and angrily re- peated the question. JFinette was frightened, and gave no response. The turnkey glanced from the « | 24s window; and perosiving De Margaux, at once hended that he must have been the object daughter’s interest. “'Wretohed girl!” he exclaimed, turning angrily almost ferociously round upon Finette; “do you know to whom you were bowing? That | man, for all his gentlemanly looks, is one of the | greatest miscreants that ever came within these | walls. He is a murderer!” “A murderer, father P” evidd Finette. “Ib is imposible! A tleman with such a distin. of “TI tell you, girl, that he is a murderer,” inter- | jected theturnkey. “If you had not been staying at your aunt's the day he and his comrades arrived, you would have seen the sensation-their presence in the town created.” * But he ia not yet tried, father?” said Finette ui . “No. But why do you ask the question Pf exclaimed the turnkey. “ Because it may perhaps be proved that he is | falsely charged, and is not 60 wicked after all. Do you not remember the Marquis who was accused of poisoning his wife, and whose case at first | looked so black, but .whose innocence was made manifest after all? And do you not recollect like- wise the young gentleman.that was charged with forgetry—a mere boy of one-and-twenty? I told you that I could not believe him to be guilty: you declaigd that he was; and yet on the day of trial he wae acquitted, and the real culprit took his place in the dock. So it may be with that gentleman,” ‘added Finette: “ because—” “ Hold hae tongue, girl,” interrupted her father. “It is only because he is good-looking, well-dressed, and of fine manners, that you jump at the conclusion of his innocence. I wonder what the world will come to next! Handsome men can never be guilty ing your estimation! If your mother were alive, she would have taught you dif- forently; and it ie a pity that I have not time to look more after you. If you go on in‘this way I waall send you altogether to your aunt in the coun ne PS “No, my dear father,” said Finette, cajolingly, as che threw her arms round his neck, “ you will not send,.me away, because who could attend to your houseke®ping P” “Ab! if it weren't for that,” said the man, “it would ba different. But no matter! I beg of you, Finette, not to notice prisoners from the window again: and this injunction is all the more necessary, because, as you know, Iam going out for a half-holiday, and you will be here by your- self.”’ Thus ended the conversation between the father and daughter: but Finette’s reflections on the same subject were not similarly concluded. She could not possibly persuade herself that the men of such distinguished appearance, of such im- posing demeasour, with such dark hair, and so well cultivated a moustache, was e@ murderer. There was a great debl of romance—the foolish portion of romance, we mean—in the girl’s dispo- sition: every volume in the nearest circulating library had been greedily devoured by her; and in every well-dressed, handsome, prepossessing captive she invariably beheld a victim, a martyr, or 6 ’ LOAO© (C©) SS (CO)