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I took leave of the monks, and travelled with all speed to Paris, and thence to Calais. Reaching Quillacq's hotel, I received a shock which, although I apprehended danger, I was not prepared for. It was a letter from Eugenia's agent, announcing her death. She had been seized with a brain fever, and had died at a small town in Norfolk, where she had removed soon after our last unhappy interview.
The churches and the ramparts, and the little soldiers on them, remain for ever impressed upon your memory; from which larger temples and buildings, and whole armies have subsequently disappeared: and the first words of actual French heard spoken, and the first dinner at "Quillacq's," remain after twenty years as clear as on the first day.
He paid for two places, too, although a single man, and the reason shall now be made known. Dining at the table-d'hote at "Quillacq's" it is the best inn on the Continent of Europe our little traveller had the happiness to be placed next to a lady, who was, he saw at a glance, one of the extreme pink of the nobility.
Madame Dessein, a grand-niece or nearly-related descendant of le grand Dessein, still directs at Quillacq's a pleasing old lady.
That first day at Calais; the voices of the women crying out at night, as the vessel came alongside the pier; the supper at Quillacq's and the flavor of the cutlets and wine; the red-calico canopy under which I slept; the tiled floor, and the fresh smell of the sheets; the wonderful postilion in his jack-boots and pigtail; all return with perfect clearness to my mind, and I am seeing them, and not the objects which are actually under my eyes.
Left to myself, returned slowly, and much depressed in spirits, to Quillacq's; where, ordering post-horses, I threw myself into my travelling-carriage into which my valet had by my orders previously placed my luggage. "Where are you going to, monsieur?" said the valet. "Au diable!" said I. "Mais les passeports?" said the man.
I suppose the snuff was very pungent, for, with a great start, I woke up; and now perceived that I must have been dreaming altogether. "Dessein's" of now-a-days is not the "Dessein's" which Mr. Sterne, and Mr. Brummell, and I recollect in the good old times. The town of Calais has bought the old hotel, and "Dessein" has gone over to "Quillacq's." And I was there yesterday.
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