The driver cracked his whip three times, so that the old
castle reechoed, and a flock of startled rooks flew forth from every
sheltered nook and careered wildly overhead with hoarse caws. Then the
carriage rolled on through the long, dark gate-way. The iron shoes of
the horses struck fire upon the stone pavement, a large dog barked,
the wheels thundered along the vaulted passage, the rooks' hoarse
cries resounded, and amidst all this horrible hubbub we reached a
small, paved courtyard.
"A queer post-station this," I thought, when the coach stopped. The
coach door was opened, and a tall old man with a small lantern scanned
me grimly from beneath his bushy eyebrows. He then took my arm and
helped me to alight from the coach as if I had been a person of
quality. Outside, before the castle door, stood a very ugly old woman
in a black camisole and petticoat, with a white apron and a black
cap, the long point of which in front almost touched her nose. A large
bunch of keys hung on one side of her waist, and she held in her hand
an old-fashioned candelabrum with two lighted wax candles. As soon as
she saw me she began to duck and curtsey and to talk volubly. I did
not understand a word, but I scraped innumerable bows, and felt very
uncomfortable.
Meanwhile, the old man had peered into every corner of the coach with
his lantern, and grumbled and shook his head upon finding no trace
of trunk or luggage.
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