figures on the wall seem to waver and move as they passed through the
hall and up the broad staircase, and gave a strange, weird expression to
the family portraits that looked down upon this little procession as
it moved by below them. When they reached the tapestried chamber Pierre
lighted a little copper lamp, and then bade the baron good-night,
followed by Miraut as he retraced his steps to the kitchen; but
Beelzebub, being a privileged character, remained, and curled himself up
comfortably in one of the old arm-chairs, while his master threw himself
listlessly into the other, in utter despair at the thought of his
miserable loneliness, and aimless, hopeless life. If the chamber seemed
dreary and forlorn by day, it was far more so by night. The faded
figures in the tapestry had an uncanny look; especially one, a hunter,
who might have passed for an assassin, just taking aim at his victim.
The smile on his startlingly red lips, in reality only a self-satisfied
smirk, was fairly devilish in that light, and his ghastly face horribly
life-like. The lamp burned dimly in the damp heavy air, the wind sighed
and moaned along the corridors, and strange, frightful sounds came
from the deserted chambers close at hand. The storm that had long been
threatening had come at last, and large, heavy rain-drops were driven
violently against the window-panes by gusts of wind that made them
rattle loudly in their leaden frames. Sometimes it seemed as if the
whole sash would give way before the fiercer blasts, as though a giant
had set his knee against it, and was striving to force an entrance. Now
and again, when the wind lulled for a moment while it gathered strength
for a fresh assault, the horrid shriek of an owl would be heard above
the dashing of the rain that was falling in torrents.

The master of this dismal mansion paid little attention to this
lugubrious symphony, but Beelzebub was very uneasy, starting up at every
sound, and peering into the shadowy corners of the room, as if he could