She looked like one of those meagre statues which the sculptors of the
Middle Ages carved on monuments.
"I cannot curse you," said she, suddenly rising. "You--you are but a
boy. God preserve you!"
She went downstairs and shut herself into her own room.
"She is in love with me, poor creature!" said Wenceslas to himself.
"And how fervently eloquent! She is crazy."
This last effort on the part of an arid and narrow nature to keep hold
on an embodiment of beauty and poetry was, in truth, so violent that
it can only be compared to the frenzied vehemence of a shipwrecked
creature making the last struggle to reach shore.
On the next day but one, at half-past four in the morning, when Count
Steinbock was sunk in the deepest sleep, he heard a knock at the door
of his attic; he rose to open it, and saw two men in shabby clothing,
and a third, whose dress proclaimed him a bailiff down on his luck.
"You are Monsieur Wenceslas, Count Steinbock?" said this man.
"Yes, monsieur."
"My name is Grasset, sir, successor to Louchard, sheriff's
officer----"
"What then?"
"You are under arrest, sir. You must come with us to prison--to
Clichy.--Please to get dressed.--We have done the civil, as you see; I
have brought no police, and there is a hackney cab below."
"You are safely nabbed, you see," said one of the bailiffs; "and we
look to you to be liberal."
Steinbock dressed and went downstairs, a man holding each arm; when he
was in the cab, the driver started without orders, as knowing where he
was to go, and within half an hour the unhappy foreigner found himself
safely under bolt and bar without even a remonstrance, so utterly
amazed was he.
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