le which opens direct upon the street.

Hush!--the clock strikes. Ghostly deep as is the stillness of this
convent, it is only eleven. While my ear follows to silence the hum of
the last stroke, I catch faintly from the built-out capital, a sound
like bells or like a band--a sound where sweetness, where victory,
where mourning blend. Oh, to approach this music nearer, to listen to
it alone by the rushy basin! Let me go--oh, let me go! What hinders,
what does not aid freedom?

There, in the corridor, hangs my garden-costume, my large hat, my
shawl. There is no lock on the huge, heavy, porte-cochere; there is no
key to seek: it fastens with a sort of spring-bolt, not to be opened
from the outside, but which, from within, may be noiselessly withdrawn.
Can I manage it? It yields to my hand, yields with propitious facility.
I wonder as that portal seems almost spontaneously to unclose--I wonder
as I cross the threshold and step on the paved street, wonder at the
strange ease with which this prison has been forced. It seems as if I
had been pioneered invisibly, as if some dissolving force had gone
before me: for myself, I have scarce made an effort.

Quiet Rue Fossette! I find on this pavement that wanderer-wooing summer
night of which I mused; I see its moon over me; I feel its dew in the
air. But here I cannot stay; I am still too near old haunts: so close
under the dungeon, I can hear the prisoners moan. This solemn peace is
not what I seek, it is not what I can bear: to me the face of that sky
bears the aspect of a world's death. The park also will be calm--I
know, a mortal serenity prevails everywhere--yet let me seek the park.

I took a route well known, and went up towards the palatial and royal
Haute-Ville; thence the music I had heard certainly floated; it was
hushed now, but it might re-waken. I went on: neither band nor bell
music came to meet me; another sound replaced it, a sound like a strong
tide, a great flow, deepening as I proceeded. Light broke, movement
gathered, chimes pealed--to what was I coming? Entering on the level of
a Grande Place, I found myself, with the suddenness of magic, plunged
amidst a gay, living, joyous crowd.

Villette is one blaze, one broad illumination; the whole world seems
abroad; moonlight and heaven are banished: the town, by her own
flambeaux, beholds her own splendour--gay dresses, grand equipages,
fine horses and gallant riders throng the bright streets. I see even
scores