Gaspard went to the door and looked into the street.The city was still strangely quiet. No roysterers swaggered home along the pavements, no tramp of cuirassiers told of the passage of a great man. But again he had the sense that hot fires were glowing under these cold ashes. The mist had lifted and the stars were clear, and over the dark mass of the Louvre a great planet burned. The air was warm and stifling,and with a gesture of impatience he slammed the door.By now he ought to have been drinking the cool night on the downs beyond Oise.