The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret Tomb THE SECRET TOMB CHAPTER I THE CHÂTEAU DE ROBOREY Under a sky heavy with stars and faintly brighter for a low-hanging sickle moon, the gipsy caravan slept on the turf by the roadside, its shutters closed, its shafts stretched out like arms. In the shadow of the ditch nearby a stertorous horse was snoring. Far away, above the black crest of the hills, a bright streak of sky announced the coming of the dawn. A church clock struck four. Here and there a bird awoke and began to sing. The air was soft and warm. Abruptly, from the interior of the caravan, a woman's voice cried: "Saint-Quentin! Saint-Quentin!" A head was thrust out of the little window which looked out over the box under the projecting roof. "A nice thing this! I thought as much! The rascal has decamped in the night. The little beast! Nice discipline this is!" Other voices joined in the grumbling. Two or three minutes passed, then the door in the back of the caravan opened and a shadowy figure descended the five steps of the ladder while two tousled heads appeared at the side window. "Dorothy! Where are you going?" "To look for Saint-Quentin!" "But he came back with you from your walk last night; and I saw him settle down on the box." "You can see that he isn't there any longer, Castor." "Where is he?" "Patience! I'm going to bring him back to you by the ears." But two small boys in their shirts came tumbling down the steps of the caravan and implored her: "No, no, mummy Dorothy! Don't you go away by yourself in the night-time. It's dangerous...." "What are you making a fuss about, Pollux? Dangerous? It's no business of yours!"
Back
Top