“Oh, Lord, have pity!—­I can no longer keep my ground; the spectre drags me to the slope of the hill; my walk is rapid as the deadly blast that rages behind me; already do I behold the city gates.  Have mercy, Lord, on the descendants of my sister!  Spare them; do not make me their executioner; let them triumph over their enemies!”

“Go on!  Go on!”

“The ground flies beneath my feet; there is the city gate.  Lord, it is yet time!  Oh, mercy for that sleeping town!  Let it not waken to cries of terror, despair, and death!  Lord, I am on the threshold.  Must it be?—­Yes, it is done.  Paris, the plague is in thy bosom.  The curse—­oh, the eternal curse!”

“Go on!  Go on!  Go on!”

CHAPTER XVI.

The luncheon.

The morning after the doomed traveller, descending the heights of Montmartre, had entered the walls of Paris, great activity reigned in St. Dizier House.  Though it was hardly noon, the Princess de St. Dizier, without being exactly in full dress (she had too much taste for that), was yet arrayed with more care than usual.  Her light hair, instead of being merely banded, was arranged in two bunches of curls, which suited very well with her full and florid cheeks.  Her cap was trimmed with bright rose-colored ribbon, and whoever had seen the lady in her tight fitting dress of gray-watered silk would have easily guessed that Mrs. Grivois, her tirewoman, must have required the assistance and the efforts of another of the princess’s women to achieve so remarkable a reduction in the ample figure of their mistress.

We shall explain the edifying cause of this partial return to the vanities of the world.  The princess, attended by Mrs. Grivois, who acted as housekeeper, was giving her final orders with regard to some preparations that were going on in a vast parlor.  In the midst of this room was a large round table, covered with crimson velvet, and near it stood several chairs, amongst which, in the place of honor, was an arm chair of gilded wood.  In one corner, not far from the chimney, in which burned an excellent fire, was a buffet.  On it were the divers materials for a most dainty and exquisite collation.  Upon silver dishes were piled pyramids of sandwiches composed of the roes of carp and anchovy paste, with slices of pickled tunny-fish and Lenigord truffles (it was in Lent); on silver dishes, placed over burning spirits of wine, so as to keep them very hot, tails of Meuse crawfish boiled in cream, smoked in golden colored pastry, and seemed to challenge comparison with delicious little Marennes oyster-patties, stewed in Madeira, and flavored with a seasoning of spiced sturgeon.  By the side of these substantial dishes were some of a lighter character, such as pineapple tarts, strawberry-creams (it was early for such fruit), and orange-jelly served in the peel, which had been artistically emptied for that purpose.  Bordeaux, Madeira, and Alicant sparkled like rubies and topazes in large glass decanters, while two Sevres ewers were filled, one with coffee a la creme, the other with vanilla chocolate, almost in the state of sherbet, from being plunged in a large cooler of chiselled silver, containing ice.