The three friends walked gayly on, admiring the dawn, which is much finer in the mountains than when seen from a window in Paris, or from the gravelled path of a garden. Claude went ahead to lead the way; and Robineau, his spirits lightened by the certainty that he would soon see his château, rubbed his hands and smiled, apparently at his thoughts. Alfred and Edouard joked their companion on the smile he had received from the Auvergnate on taking his leave of her; and, as they recalled the equivocal situation in which they had found him in the middle of the night, they put forward certain conjectures. Robineau defended himself smilingly, with an air of gratified self-esteem; then pointed to the shepherd who was ahead of them, saying:
"Hush, messieurs, I beg; you will compromise me!"
Suddenly the shepherd halted and called out to them:
"There’s the White House!"
They were on the slope of a hill, and at the point where the mountaineer had stopped, the road made a bend, disclosing a lovely valley, with vineyards and fields, and with many tall shade-giving trees which added variety to the picture.
Alfred and Edouard hastened to the shepherd’s side. They saw in the centre of the valley a pretty house, built after the modern style, having a ground floor and an upper-story with a mansard roof. A wall of considerable length, beginning at the left side of the house, enclosed the garden, which was evidently very large.
"What! is that the haunted house?" Alfred asked the shepherd. "Why, really, it is not terrifying to look at. The location is delightful; this valley is a charming spot, and if the devil has taken up his abode here, we must agree that he has excellent taste."
The shepherd made no reply, but contented himself with looking at the house with a timid expression. Robineau, who had remained behind, cried:
"I’d much rather see La Roche-Noire than all your peasants’ hovels!"
"Where is young Isaure’s house?" Edouard asked.
"Yonder, messieurs, near the White House. Don’t you see? here on your right."
"Oh, yes! A rustic house of most attractive aspect, surrounded by fine trees, and with flowers in the windows.—So that is where the little sorceress lives!—But let us go on, let us go down into the valley; we shall have a better view at close quarters."
They kept on to the foot of the hill; but the mountaineer no longer walked ahead; he remained near the travellers, and they observed that he was guiding them toward a road which, while it led through the valley, did not directly pass the White House.
"I will act as guide now," said Alfred, "for I see, my good man, that you are leading us away from the place we wish to see."
"Why, messieurs, I’m taking you by the road that leads to Saint-Amand, and you don’t need to go right by the White House."
"Worthy Claude is right," said Robineau; "for after all, messieurs, it isn’t this house, where nobody lives, that we’re going to, but my château."
"And I tell you I don’t propose to pass through this valley, close by this famous habitation, without having a good look at it.—Come, Edouard, let us go to the right."
Alfred and Edouard walked rapidly in the direction of the White House; the shepherd followed them with a hesitating step, and Robineau brought up the rear, consigning his companions to the devil.
They arrived in front of that house, which the mountaineers never mentioned without a thrill of terror. Claude halted ten paces away, having no inclination to go any nearer. Robineau remained with Claude and seated himself on the grass, saying:
"Go on, messieurs, satisfy your curiosity, although I don’t see anything very curious about the house. It was not worth while to turn aside from our road for this. Upon my word, you act like schoolboys."
Paying no heed to Robineau, Alfred and Edouard went close to the house. The ground-floor windows were closed by shutters, those on the first floor by blinds only. The young men examined everything with interest; and, when they came to the front door, where there was an iron knocker, Alfred cried:
"Parbleu! we must make sure whether there is anyone in this pretty little house."
As he spoke, he seized the knocker and was about to knock, when the shepherd, who had not lost sight of him, cried out in dismay:
"Monsieur! monsieur! don’t knock! oh! don’t do anything like that!"
"Why not, pray, my friend?" said Alfred with a laugh; "if there’s no one here, what difference does it make whether I knock or not? And if there are people here, we shall make the acquaintance of the proprietor, and he will excuse travellers for so trifling a liberty."
"No matter!" cried Robineau, "it’s most improper to knock; indeed, it’s absurd, and——"
Robineau’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of the knocker, with which Alfred was belaboring the door. At the sound the shepherd retreated even farther, in dire alarm; he evidently expected that some terrifying creature would open the door. Robineau turned pale and hummed a tune. Alfred and Edouard listened; but the blows of the knocker echoed inside the house and finally died away, unanswered.
"No one!" said Edouard.
"Let us try again," said Alfred. He knocked twice more in quick succession, louder than before; but the blows were followed by the same silence.
"You are wasting your time, you see, messieurs!" said Robineau, rising; "you might knock until to-morrow, to no purpose, as there’s no one there!"
"Or else they won’t answer," muttered the shepherd, who had drawn a little nearer.
"It’s a pity!" said Alfred; "I would have liked to see a legion of phantoms come out—just to see what sort of a face Sire de la Roche-Noire would have made."
"My face would not have changed, messieurs; I don’t believe in these old grandmothers’ tales, as you do; that is why I don’t see the need of knocking at doors when I know there’s no one inside."
"Oh! you wouldn’t have to knock like that at midnight!" said the shepherd, shaking his head. "You’d find a difference then, I tell you!"
"Well," said Alfred, "as we can’t get into the White House unless by scaling the walls, which would be a little too much after the style of the sons of Aymon or Ogier the Dane, let us try the cottage; perhaps we shall be more fortunate there."
"Oh! you won’t find anybody there either, messieurs," said Claude, "for at this time of day Isaure always drives her goats to pasture in the mountain."
"In that case," said Robineau, "it seems to me that we might dispense with knocking at every door we see."
Alfred and Edouard left their companion to confide his reflections to the shepherd. They walked toward the cottage, which was surrounded by fine trees and by small squares of ground in which flowers were cultivated with care.
"This place looks like a palace beside the hovel where we slept last night," said Alfred; "we may look upon this cottage as the château of Chadrat."
"Yes, it’s a charming spot," said Edouard, stopping to examine the rustic structure. "These beautiful trees whose shade seems to protect this modest abode—and the flowers—and the turf!—Do you know, my dear Alfred, I would gladly pass my life here!"
"Your life! oh! that is too long; but a week, with a lovely woman—I don’t say no to that.—But let us see if the mistress of this cottage corresponds with the idea I have formed of her."
The door was closed and locked. Alfred knocked, called, looked in the windows; no one appeared, but they heard on the other side of the door the barking of a dog who seemed anxious to interview the visitors.
"The house is well guarded, at all events," said Alfred.
"What’s that?" exclaimed Robineau.
"It’s Isaure’s dog," said the shepherd; "he’s a big fellow, I tell you! and I’ll bet no two men could handle him! He’s a—wait—he’s a dog of some kind of a land—what do you call it?"
"Do you mean Newfoundland?"
"Yes, monsieur, Newfoundland, that’s it."
"And how does it happen that this girl has a dog of that breed, which is so rare in this country?"
"Oh! monsieur, that’s another one of those mysterious things that proves that there’s something crooked. Isaure’s had this big dog since André’s widow’s death; somebody asked her where she got him, and she said a traveller made her a present of him because she took him in and gave him something to eat. I ask you if it’s likely that a traveller would deprive himself of his trusty companion?"
"No, it isn’t conceivable," said Robineau, "and I begin to agree with the shepherd, that this young girl—It’s a most extraordinary thing."
"Do you know what the dog’s name is?" Edouard asked the shepherd.
"Yes, monsieur, he goes out with his mistress sometimes, and we hear her calling him ‘Vaillant’ here and ‘Vaillant’ there."
Edouard walked to the door and tapped softly, calling Vaillant. The dog at once replied, but his bark was less loud; he seemed to ask what was wanted rather than to threaten the strangers.
The two friends listened to the dog with interest, and the shepherd with attention; but Robineau, who was striding to and fro, stamping the ground angrily, cried:
"Messieurs, I don’t know whether you came to Auvergne to talk with dogs and to knock at every door.—As for myself, as I have a different object, I am going to have the honor of bidding you adieu if you don’t choose to go forward."
"Nonsense, Robineau! don’t get excited; we are coming right along. I confess that I would have liked to see this girl."
"So would I!" said Edouard.
"But since she is absent, and you don’t feel like taking another little walk into the mountains, we will go with you, reserving the right to come back without you to see the little sorceress."
"There she is! there she is!" cried the shepherd at that moment, pointing toward the mountain. The young men at once turned their eyes in that direction and saw a young girl, who was coming quickly down into the valley, driving a herd of goats before her.
Alfred and Edouard remained where they stood and followed the girl with their eyes. Her gait was light and active; sometimes she ran after her goats, again she turned to call the stragglers. When she descended a steep slope, her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, and she leaped as if in sport over deep excavations. At last she reached the valley, where they were better able to distinguish her features: her great deep-blue eyes were shaded by long black lashes, and her eyelids, often half lowered, added to the sweetness of her expression, which was at once artless and shy. Her nose was small and well shaped, her mouth, which was rather large, revealed when she smiled teeth as white as ivory; her fair hair fell in great curls over her brow, and was arranged with taste and with more care than is usual among the women of the mountains; her complexion was but slightly darkened by the sun, from which it was sheltered by a broad-brimmed straw hat. She was of medium height, but slender and graceful; her foot and hand were small and shapely. A brown skirt and a waist of the same material, with a little red and white apron, comprised her whole costume; but there was in her manner of wearing them a grace that did not at all resemble the heavy and awkward carriage of the women of Auvergne.
"She is charming!" said Alfred.
Edouard said nothing, but his eyes followed Isaure’s every movement.
"Yes," said Robineau, "she’s very pretty for a peasant."
The little goatherd approached her dwelling. Ere long she stopped in surprise and made a gesture which implied that she had just discovered the strangers. But she walked on after a moment, and came cheerily toward them. Alfred and Edouard stepped forward to meet her.
"Have you been knocking at my door, messieurs?" she asked, in a very sweet voice, with a curtsy to the travellers.
"Yes, my lovely child," Alfred replied.
"I was not mistaken! I heard Vaillant. You see, he warns me instantly when anyone comes. But you wish to step in and rest, no doubt, and have something to eat? Come, messieurs, I will let you in."
"You are too kind," said Edouard; "but we are sorry to have brought you home."
"Why so? As if I had not time enough to pasture my goats! And is it not a pleasure to be useful to travellers?"
As she spoke, the girl ran ahead to unlock the door.
"My friend, she is pretty enough to paint!" said Alfred in an undertone.
"Yes; everything about her charms and interests one!"
"What drivelling idiots these mountaineers must be to be afraid of such a lovely child! For my part, I would gladly sell myself to the devil with her!"
"Well, messieurs! do you propose to go in here?" inquired Robineau, walking toward his companions.
"Oh! my dear Robineau, you must certainly agree that we cannot refuse this sweet child’s invitation. Besides, we have had nothing but milk this morning, and it seems to me that a little fruit would not do us any harm."
"But, messieurs, at my château you will have chickens and——"
"I am fully persuaded that we shall have geese and turkeys at your château; but, pending the time when we shall enjoy their society, let us make this young woman’s acquaintance. Come, Robineau, just this one concession—it will be the last."
"Great God! how many concessions I have made since yesterday!—You are making me pay very dear for my château!"
"I will write you a poem for your installation, Monsieur Jules."
"Well, if you insist upon it, let us go into the girl’s house for a minute; but beware of her dog!"
Isaure had opened the door. A superb dog, with long silky white hair, leaped upon her, then smelt each one of the visitors—a formality which did not please Robineau.
As they entered the cottage, Alfred turned and exclaimed:
"Why, where’s our guide? I don’t see him."
The shepherd had departed as soon as the girl appeared.
"He seems to have left us," said Edouard.
"Still another delay!" muttered Robineau.
"We can do without him quite well, and I will guarantee that we will be at your house within two hours. Meanwhile, let us enter the abode of the little sorceress, whose lovely eyes have turned my head already."
The young men entered a room on the ground floor, furnished with common articles, but spotlessly clean. At the rear could be seen a small yard, with the garden beyond.
"Would you like to see my garden while I am getting your breakfast ready, messieurs?" asked Isaure.
"With pleasure," said Alfred.
"Come, Vaillant, escort these gentlemen to the garden."
Vaillant understood his mistress’s signs and led the way. The young men followed him, Robineau saying to himself:
"It seems that it’s the dog who does the honors of the house."
They passed through the yard, where there were hens and pigeons, and Vaillant led them into the garden; it was small, but tastefully arranged, with fruit, vegetables and flowers all growing there without the least confusion. Edouard gazed at everything with deep interest, and Alfred with surprise; he could not understand how so pretty a girl could live alone in that cottage, where everything seemed to point to comfortable circumstances and orderly habits.
The dog walked in front of them; when they stopped, he did the same, and turned to look at them; then he would walk on, turning his head from time to time, to see if they were following him. He led the travellers thus to every nook and corner of the garden; then took them back to the house.
"This dog is an extraordinary creature," said Edouard; "a peasant could not have played the cicerone better."
"He is magnificent," said Alfred, "a genuine Newfoundland. He seems to be young still; I’ll wager that his like cannot be found in the whole district; he is worth more than six hundred francs."
"You must agree, messieurs," said Robineau, "that it’s surprising to find such a fine animal in a peasant girl’s house. For my part, I agree with the shepherd, that it’s very strange that a traveller should have given him to her,—unless the little one, in exchange, gave him her most precious possession."
"Oh! Monsieur Robineau, what an idea!" cried Edouard angrily. "To assume evil at once! to cast a slur upon this child’s virtue."
"Faith, my dear fellow," said Alfred, "it may well be that Robineau is right; we do not know this girl, but she lives alone, and——"
"And that’s a very suspicious circumstance," said Robineau; "but these poets are amazing creatures—they are determined to find prodigies of innocence and virtue everywhere."
"No, monsieur; poets feed on chimeras less than other men; for they are surfeited with all forms of fiction; they know how a romance is made, and they often go behind the scenes, where it is difficult to retain one’s illusions; but that is no reason for never believing in virtue, and I do not believe that an innocent girl is a prodigy in this part of the country."
At that moment Isaure appeared at the door and said:
"When you wish to breakfast, messieurs, everything is ready."
They returned to the cottage, where they found a table laden with fruit, bread and milk, and butter, all arranged with a daintiness and neatness that charmed the eye.
"This is more appetizing than the soup of our good friends of Chadrat," said Alfred, as he and his companions seated themselves at the table.
"Won’t you sit down with us?" Edouard asked Isaure.
"Oh, no! I have already breakfasted, monsieur; but I will stay to wait on you, if you require anything."
As she spoke, Isaure seated herself at some little distance from the table, took some work, and began to sew. Vaillant at once lay down in front of his mistress, with his face turned toward the visitors, from whom he did not take his eyes for an instant, like a sentinel stationed to guard an important post, who never relaxes his watchfulness, so that he may defend it if attacked.
While they ate, the young men frequently glanced at the girl. There was on her features an impressible, gentle expression, to which her ingenuous and candid glance imparted an indefinable charm.
"I agree with Edouard now," said Alfred after a moment, "and I believe that Robineau is wrong."
"Do you occupy this house all alone?" Edouard asked the girl.
"Yes, monsieur, all alone, for the three years since my dear mother died."
"Was André’s widow your mother?"
"She took the place of a mother to me, for I never knew my own parents, who died a long time ago; but kind André and his wife adopted me as their child. When he died I was very small; but his wife—it’s only three years since I lost her, and I think of her every day."
The girl’s voice trembled, and she lowered her head over her work; the young men looked at her and saw tears falling from her lovely eyes. Vaillant noticed the change in his mistress’s tone; he raised his head, stood up, and looked at Isaure; then turning his eyes on the strangers, he gave a low growl as if calling them to account for the girl’s tears; but she instantly put her hand on him, patted and caressed him, whereupon the dog became quiet once more and lay down at her feet.
"Forgive us for reviving your grief by our questions," said Alfred; "but travellers are inquisitive—and you are so pretty, you know!—But you must be bored, living all alone?"
"Bored? oh! no, monsieur! I have no time for that; I have so many things to do! My garden requires a great deal of care; and then, have I not company? my dog, my hens, my goats, and my cow?"
"She calls that company!" exclaimed Robineau with a smile of pity. "But you must be afraid here, aren’t you?" he asked Isaure.
"Afraid? no, monsieur; there are no thieves in our mountains; and even if anyone should try to harm me, have I not my faithful Vaillant? Oh! he would defend me stoutly!"
"I certainly wouldn’t want to fight with him," said Robineau.
"True," said Alfred, "that’s a magnificent dog of yours, and of a very valuable breed. They are the dogs that help the good monks on Mont Cenis and Mont Saint-Bernard to find lost travellers, who are often almost dead in the snow."
"Ah! I am sure that Vaillant would do as much!"
"Did you pay a high price for him?" inquired Robineau with a sarcastic smile.
The girl did not reply for some seconds; then she lowered her eyes and said:
"He was given to me—he cost me nothing. The person who made me the gift told me that he could not give me a more faithful guardian."
"Had I been in his place," said Edouard, "I would have done the same. Your situation is not without danger, and fidelity is assuredly the greatest safeguard of innocence and beauty."
Isaure looked up at Edouard and seemed to thank him with a smile; while Robineau shook his head and stuffed himself with bread and butter.
"But," said Alfred, "you live near a place against which all of Vaillant’s vigilance would be of no avail, assuming the reports that are current hereabout to be true."
"Ah! do you mean the house across the way?" said Isaure smiling, "where the people of the mountains declare that there are ghosts?"
"Exactly.—So you are not afraid of these ghosts?"
"Oh! no, monsieur! I know very well that it’s all nonsense. In my dear mother’s time, the mountaineers used to tell us sometimes that we ought to go away from this dangerous valley. But that only made us laugh. We knew that there was no danger here; for nothing ever happened to us."
"And don’t you ever see lights in the White House at night," asked Robineau, "or hear noises? Don’t you ever see the black ghost?"
A mischievous smile played about the girl’s lips as she replied:
"I have never seen anything out of the common course, monsieur."
"Faith," said Alfred, "we tried to find out whether the house was really unoccupied; and before coming here we went there and knocked, to the great scandal of the mountaineer who acted as our guide."
"You knocked at the White House?" said Isaure hastily; "did anyone answer?"
"No, of course not, as there’s no one there."
The girl seemed more or less excited; but she recovered herself and said:
"To be sure; it was of no use to knock."
Edouard looked closely at Isaure and tried to read her eyes; but Robineau sprang to his feet and cried:
"I think you must have eaten enough, messieurs, and it’s time for us to be going on."
Alfred and Edouard rose regretfully; they realized that it would not be well to prolong their visit then. Alfred drew his purse and was about to take out a piece of money, when the girl stayed his hand, saying:
"You owe me nothing, messieurs; my adopted parents never took pay from strangers who stopped at their house, and I should consider that I failed in respect to their memory if I did not do in everything as they did."
"Well, I must obey you, my lovely child," said Alfred; "but I expect to stay in this neighborhood for some time, and I warn you that I shall come again to ask you for some breakfast."
"Whenever you please, monsieur," said Isaure, with a little curtsy, while the young man tried to take her hand. But she hastily drew it back, with a smile to the three travellers.
Robineau had already left the cottage, and Edouard waited for Alfred to go before taking his leave. He said nothing to Isaure, but he gazed long at her, and his eyes found it difficult to leave her.
They took the road which the shepherd had attempted to take, and which was supposed to lead them to Saint-Amand. This time it was Robineau who walked ahead; he tried to hurry his companions, by running forward and then returning to them. Alfred and Edouard said nothing and paid little heed to any of Robineau’s manœuvres; they were thinking of Isaure and the memory of the young goatherd caused them to forget their destination.
"Upon my word, she is charming!" cried Alfred at last; "I would never have believed that in these mountains—in a mere cottage—one could find so many charms and attractions. The shepherd was quite right—she doesn’t resemble any of the women of Auvergne we have seen hitherto; and still the girl I danced with at Ayda was not bad-looking—but so heavy and awkward! She was a genuine mountaineer, whereas this child—Don’t you agree with me, Edouard?"
"Yes, the girl is very pretty."
"Very pretty! How coldly you say that, for a poet! Say rather that she is adorable, enchanting—that she would drive people wild in Paris!"
Edouard did not answer, but Alfred’s enthusiasm seemed to annoy him.
"You take fire on account of that little shepherdess, messieurs," said Robineau; "but mon Dieu! you’ll see a different sort on my domain! They say that there are some very buxom village girls near my château."
"I don’t care for buxom women, my dear Robineau!"
"I mean well-built—robust."
"I don’t care for robust women."
"But I mean well-shaped, wanton creatures."
"I don’t care for wantons."
"Oh! go to walk!"[7]
"Why, that is what we have been doing for a long while."
The young men passed divers lovely hillsides covered with vines. The landscape was charming—fields, pastures, orchards everywhere. Soon they saw before them a small town most delightfully situated on the banks of a winding stream. Some peasants informed them that they were at Saint-Amand.
"And La Roche-Noire?" inquired Robineau.
"Oh! that ain’t very far away, monsieur; but you don’t want to go through Saint-Amand. Turn off here—to Saint-Saturnin; you’ll find the way easy enough."
"Good!" said Robineau; "my property is evidently known here; forward, messieurs."
"Why, you go like a stag, Robineau! Give us a little chance to breathe."
"I shan’t breathe until I am at my château."
And Robineau hastened forward, although the perspiration was streaming from his brow and he was as red as a boiled lobster. After walking another quarter of an hour, the young men overtook two young peasants who were driving a laden ass.
"Where are you going, my friends?" asked Robineau.
"Home, monsieur."
"Where do you live?"
"About a half a league from here, near the Château de la Roche-Noire."
"Near La Roche-Noire!" cried Robineau, in an ecstasy of delight. "They are two of my vassals!"
"Your vassals are slightly soiled," observed Alfred.
"Parbleu! in the morning; but I consider them charming, myself. Listen, my little Cupids."
The two peasants, who had no idea that they were the ones who were called Cupids, continued to urge their ass forward; but Robineau overtook them again and stopped them.
"Listen, my children: you say that you live near La Roche-Noire?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then of course you know the château?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Is it a fine château?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur, it’s very fine! It’s just like a prison—there’s towers and barred windows!"
Alfred roared with laughter; but Robineau continued his examination.
"My friends, it is well that you should know that I am the new lord, the proprietor of that magnificent estate."
The little peasants stared at him with a stupid expression, still plying their stick; and Alfred observed with a laugh:
"How strange; that doesn’t seem to produce any effect at all."
"My children," pursued Robineau, "you probably didn’t understand what I said—I am the proprietor of La Roche-Noire."
"Yes, monsieur, we understand. But they looked for you last night, monsieur."
"They looked for me!—You see, messieurs, they expected me—I was sure of it!—Poor children! You had a fête all prepared, I suppose?"
"Oh! I don’t know, monsieur; all I know is that a gentleman came to our place yesterday, and sung out that his master was coming and we must dance and enjoy ourselves because he’d treat us well. Then my brother and me, we went in front of the château to play the bagpipes, and we waited for the man as was going to treat us. But there didn’t nobody come, and so our father, who was mad because we’d been to the château, he wouldn’t give us no supper when we got home, and he said that would teach us to make fools of ourselves."
"You shall have two suppers to-day, my children, I promise you, and your father shall see what kind of man I am! But you must do something for me. Just run ahead; you’re not tired, you boys! You will reach the château before we do, and you must ask for François, my valet, and tell him I am coming. Go on; leave your ass with me; I’ll mount him and that will rest me a little. He isn’t a very noble steed; but when one has been walking twenty-four hours, one takes what one finds.—Go on."
The boys looked at each other and did not stir.
"Didn’t you hear me?" asked Robineau.
"Yes, monsieur; but we can’t leave our donkey with you like that; all you’d have to do would be to ride off on him and we’d never see you again!"
"What, you little rascals! you take your lord for a thief?"
"My dear Robineau," said Alfred, "these boys are quite right not to leave their ass in your hands; for, after all, they don’t know you, and you haven’t the least idea how to play theseigneur. Do you suppose that all you have to do is to say: ‘I am the man?’—Prove it; draw your purse; that’s always the way to make people recognize you."
"Ah! to be sure, I didn’t think of that!" cried Robineau; and he immediately produced a five-franc piece and gave it to one of the small boys. The sight of the coin produced much more effect on the peasants than all the titles in the world. The elder consented to run on ahead to the château, and the younger allowed Robineau to ride the ass, on condition that he himself should remain to drive him.
The ass was a large, strong animal; he wore no saddle, so that the new landed proprietor was obliged to ride bareback, and in default of stirrups, to cling to the mane, confining his mount to a foot pace. But he sat proudly erect on the beast, requesting the boy not to make him go too fast, and Alfred declared that Robineau could not find a nobler animal on which to make his entry into the château.
"I certainly shall not ride into the courtyard on the ass," said Robineau, "but I am very glad to use him until we arrive there. You have kept me walking since yesterday noon, messieurs.—Don’t urge the ass, my boy, let him go quietly, I am not in such a hurry now; there will be no harm done if your brother arrives some time before us."
Thereupon the little peasant fell back and left Robineau to guide the ass as he chose. Alfred and Edouard could not help smiling whenever they glanced at the cavalier, who called to them from time to time:
"We are drawing near my château, messieurs; I feel it in the beating of my heart."
"I smell[8]nothing but an odor of barnyard," said Alfred.
"Oh! that comes from Monsieur Cheval’s—he keeps cows and oxen," said the boy.
"Who is this Monsieur Cheval, little one?"
"He’s the horse-doctor and farrier of these parts; he doctors animals."
"The deuce! he must be one of the authorities of the neighborhood!"
"Messieurs! messieurs! I believe I see it!" cried Robineau, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his eyes.
"What—Monsieur Cheval?"
"My château! my estate! See—on that hill yonder.—Is that my château, boy?"
"Yes, monsieur, yes, that’s La Roche-Noire."
"Ah! what rapture, messieurs! Do you see a tower—I mean towers, ramparts, and—Stop the ass a minute, boy.—Wait, my friends—my joy, my emotion are—I believe I am going to fall."
They gathered around Robineau, who was almost fainting. At last he loosened his cravat, took a pinch of snuff, and returned to himself, only to turn his eyes once more upon his property, crying:
"Ah! messieurs, it makes me ill, but it makes me very happy!—Dieu! how large it looks! how beautiful! what a noble structure!"
"It looks to me like an old ruin," said Alfred.
"It reminds me of Anne Radcliffe’s novels," said Edouard.
"Oh! messieurs, how far it extends! What a superb building! and windows! Heavens! what a lot of windows! It’s like the Château of Chambord!"
"So far as I can see, there is no glass in all those windows."
"Perhaps it wasn’t the custom to have glass in old times, my friend. Besides, I was told that there were some small repairs to be made.—But let us push on, messieurs, let us push on, I cannot contain myself; it seems to me that my château is holding out its arms to me.—Above all things, no more Robineau here, I entreat you; I shall not answer to that name again. Come, my boy; urge your donkey a bit, so that we may arrive sooner at yonder beautiful greensward."
The boy switched the beast, which, realizing that it was nearing home, asked nothing better than to fall into a trot. Robineau, a little surprised at first by that rapid pace, allowed the ass to trot on, for the pleasure due to the fact that he was approaching his château gave him courage to retain his seat.
They drew near the lawn in front of the château, and saw on the right and left a number of cottages of rather attractive appearance. Soon they were near enough to La Roche-Noire to distinguish a number of persons who seemed to be on the lookout in front of the château. They were François and all the people whom he, having been notified by the little peasant, had found disposed to leave their work in order to witness the new proprietor’s arrival. The number was not large: there were three peasants and five peasant women, together with Monsieur Cheval, the veterinary, who hoped to obtain the custom of the château, and Monsieur Férulus, who kept a small school in the neighborhood, and who also counted upon being tutor to the newcomer’s family. But in addition to these ten persons, there were a score or so of children, the majority very small, whom François easily collected, because children are never scarce in the country districts; and in order to make them useful, the valet had given to each of them a cowherd’s horn, the only instrument they were capable of playing. François wished the peasants to fire muskets in honor of his master’s arrival; but they had been unable to find any that were in condition to be fired, either in the château or anywhere in the neighborhood. In default of firearms the Auvergnats had armed themselves with their bagpipes; Monsieur Cheval had taken his drum from its hook—he was a very skilful performer on the drum, and played at all the fêtes and merrymakings in the neighborhood; and Monsieur Férulus, who played upon no instrument, but sang as if he had been dismissed from the Opéra, had composed a chorus, which he would be obliged to sing by himself, as the five peasant women refused to join in this.
François had stationed the concierge and the gardener at the windows of their respective lodges, looking on the road, to watch; they were to notify him as soon as they saw anyone, when he would give the signal to his party. At last the concierge, who was usually half seas over, and who had been considerably more than that since the preceding night, in order to receive his new master more becomingly—the concierge exclaimed with an ominous hiccough:
"Here comes some one! Here comes a donkey first of all!"
"It’s monseigneur!" said François; "now, my friends, all together, and make as much noise as you can!"
Instantly the air was filled with the noise of bagpipes, horns, drums and voices,—François, the concierge and the gardener adding to the uproar with a prolongedVive monseigneur!The ass that bore the person thus noisily welcomed continued at a fast trot across the greensward, for it saw at the left the entrance to its stable, beside a small cottage, where a cow and divers geese seemed also to be awaiting the new lord of the manor. But the infernal uproar which suddenly rent the air caused the donkey, which was not fond of music, to prick up its ears; it broke into a gallop in order to reach its quarters more quickly. Robineau tried to hold it back, but he had too much to do to hold himself in his seat. In vain did he call out to the peasants, to François, to stop the ass; the strains of the instruments drowned his voice. The ass shot through the midst of the villagers like an arrow, as they stood respectfully aside and saluted the new proprietor, who entered upon his domain at a gallop, clinging to the tail and mane of his mount. But the ass, instead of going to the château, made for its own quarters, and did not stop till it reached the stable, where it immediately rolled on the floor with its rider. Monseigneur shrieked for help, while the ass brayed lustily, in order to have its share in the concert that was being given on the lawn.
Meanwhile, François and some of the peasants, surprised that monseigneur preferred to dismount in the stable of one of his vassals instead of in the courtyard of his château, went thither after him, and not without much difficulty did they succeed in extricating Monsieur de la Roche-Noire from beneath the ass. At last Robineau stood erect once more; he had fallen into the mire, which was in his hair and over one eye, and with which one side of his coat was besmeared. But his pleasure in having arrived and in hearing the tumult that was being made in his honor prevented him from observing the disarray of his costume. He strode proudly forth from the stable, and bent his steps, limping slightly, toward the peasants; he bowed to right and left and was intoxicated for some moments by the loud strains of the cowherds’ horns; he considered that Monsieur Cheval beat the drum as well as the wild Indian at the Palais-Royal, and that the peasant women had voices as good as choristers’.
But Monsieur Férulus stepped forward to meet him; he made a gesture with his left arm, whereupon François immediately made another with his right, and everybody was quiet. Thereupon Monsieur Férulus, having saluted as if he were about to dance a minuet, passed his tongue over his lips and addressed Robineau thus:
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire:—Albo dies notanda lapillo!—The Romans marked with white and black stones their happy and unhappy days; we shall make a cross for this day which brings you among us. Long has this domain been deserted. You will be the sun, which is more than perfect (pluperfect), you will be thefuture, which isindefinite, and these peasants will enjoy a happiness which will not beconditional."
Alfred and Edouard, who were behind the recipient of this complimentary address, bit their lips to avoid laughing in Monsieur Férulus’s face, and moved away from the new landholder, whose garments did not exhale a pleasant odor. But Monsieur Férulus took snuff and continued his harangue:
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire,vitam impendere vero; I have never declined compliments or flatteries; but it is very pleasant to me to be the first to salute the new owner of this château. May you be able to say of this castle:Inveni portum!or, if you prefer, to settle in Auvergne! If I am to credit public report, which has spoken to me through the medium of your valet de chambre, you combine in a single person the wisdom of Socrates, the justice of Aristides, the grandeur of Themistocles and the eloquence of Cicero; may you add to these the good fortune of Polycrates, the wealth of Crœsus, and the length of days of Methuselah!"
Monsieur Férulus ceased to speak, wiped his forehead and took more snuff. Robineau, who had listened with keen delight to his harangue, bowed low and replied:
"Certainly, monsieur! I beg your pardon—your name, if you please?"
"Férulus."
"Well, Monsieur Férulus, I am deeply touched. For my own part, I propose to live as long as possible.—But come whenever you choose, to eat a plate of soup at the château; even to-day."
"With great pleasure, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire," said Férulus, eagerly. He had never been known to refuse an invitation to dinner.
And Robineau returned to his friends, saying:
"That’s a very learned man! deuce take it! he knows a lot!"
François, when he saw that Monsieur Férulus had finished his speech, ordered the music to strike up anew. Monsieur Cheval, who was no speaker, but who was equally anxious to secure the newcomer’s patronage, left his drum for a moment and went to his house, whence he soon returned leading a little horse, which he presented to Robineau, saying:
"Here, monsieur, is a stout nag, that won’t throw you down like Nicolas’s donkey; get on his back; he was newly shod this morning."
Robineau would have liked quite as well to make his entry on foot, but he dared not refuse Monsieur Cheval’s offer, so he climbed to the nag’s back, on condition that he should be allowed to go at a walk. They proceeded toward the château, around which could still be seen some vestiges of the ancient moats, wherein children were playing and tumbling about. At the right hand and the left were two towers which were in imminent danger of falling; but the buildings in the centre seemed to be in better condition. A large courtyard, where weeds were growing unchecked, preceded the buildings and was entered through a broad gateway with a small lodge on each side, occupied by the concierge and the gardener. Those worthies had remained at their windows awaiting their master’s entrance to carry out a little surprise which François had devised.
At last the proprietor arrived; they heard the hullabaloo caused by the shouts, the cowherds’ horns, the drum and the bagpipes; the children came first, then the peasants. The procession was swelled by Alfred and Edouard, laughing till the tears came; and Monsieur Férulus walked solemnly beside the horse. At the moment that they entered the courtyard of the château, the gardener hurled the wreath of flowers which he had prepared for his master; but instead of falling upon Robineau, it landed on the ears of his steed, who was thus crowned with flowers. At the same moment, the concierge leaned from the window to present the keys of the château, which he had placed in a salad-bowl, in default of a salver. He held this out with one hand, while with the other he raised a glass of wine, crying:
"Vive monseigneur! vive not’ bourgeois!"
The bourgeois did not inquire what there might be in the salad-bowl that was offered him. But, as he was rather inquisitive, he said to the concierge:
"Give it to me, my friend."
The concierge, who was drunk, thinking that his master wished to drink, held out the glass and spilled on his head a large part of its contents, while Monsieur Férulus exclaimed:
"O thrice happy day! I fancy that I am present at the ceremonies of the Corybantes! I seem to enter the Temple of Cybele! Music, flowers, libations—everything is here!"
"Yes, everything, absolutely," said Robineau, wiping his face; but, as he was not anxious to receive any further libations, he urged his begarlanded nag, and covered with wine and cow-dung, entered La Roche-Noire amid the cries and plaudits of all the little brats in the neighborhood.
Robineau dismounted, and as he still had some difficulty in walking, as a result of the fall under the donkey, he did not feel in condition to inspect his domain at once. After tossing with noble indifference a handful of small coins to the children, who grovelled in the dirt to scramble for them, which, according to Monsieur Férulus, recalled the tournaments of old, Robineau bade the concierge provide the whole company with refreshments; then, having saluted them all, he followed François to his bedroom, where he threw himself, tired out, on his bed, crying:
"Dieu! how pleasant it is to be a seigneur! to be harangued—ow!—and complimented!—Ah! my ribs! It’s a little fatiguing, but I shall get used to it.—François, while I take a little rest, cause a magnificent repast to be prepared, and inform the peasants that there will be a ball at the château this evening. I have been too well received not to show my gratitude."
Alfred and Edouard followed Robineau’s example; they seized the opportunity to rest from the fatigue of the journey. François showed them to two large rooms where there were bedsteads and mattresses; the beds in the château lacked bedclothes only; but François had already sent servants to Clermont to bring linen, with the carriage and the luggage of his master and his friends.
After three hours’ rest Robineau woke. He lay beneath a crimson canopy; ancient silk curtains surrounded the bed on which he had thrown himself and which was decidedly hard. But Robineau said to himself as he rose:
"I will have the mattresses stuffed."
Then he glanced about the room which was to be his bedroom. The cornice was gilded; the ceiling was adorned with Cupids, whose features were not clearly distinguishable; and the apartment was hung with old tapestry representing the story of the Chaste Susannah.
"This is magnificent!" thought Robineau; "it’s after the style of Versailles and Saint-Germain!—Gilt fillets over the doors! mouldings everywhere! beautiful mirrors!—To be sure, there are some cracks in the wall here and there, and a few holes in the floor; but I’ll have all those things repaired. I will have workmen here to-morrow."
Robineau saw a cord hanging over the mantel; he pulled it, a bell rang in the distance, and François appeared.
"Did monsieur ring?" he asked.
"Faith, yes, I rang without meaning to.—But no matter; where are the gentlemen, François?"
"They did like monsieur, they lay down; but I think they’re awake."
"François, we must have complete beds for to-night; it would not be decent to sleep at La Roche-Noire without sheets.—Send for dealers and buy some; I appoint you my factotum, my steward."
"Very good, monsieur."
"By the way, I should be glad to inspect my servants. How many are there here besides yourself?"
"The concierge and the gardener, monsieur, that’s all."
"That is not enough; I must have a good-sized staff of servants. But no matter, tell my people to come to me; I will give them my orders."
François left the room, and Alfred and Edouard joined Robineau, who stood at the window overlooking the gardens and rapturously surveyed his property.
"Well, Robi—I mean La Roche-Noire, are you satisfied?" said Alfred as he entered the room; "here you are in your château!"
"Agree, messieurs, that such rooms as this are beautiful, majestic!"
"Yes, this is very large.—But aren’t we going to inspect the house?"
"In a moment. I am waiting for my people, I have some orders to give them; then we will inspect the château from cellar to eaves."
The concierge and the gardener made their appearance; they were both drunk, but the concierge especially found it difficult to stand erect, because he was already tipsy when his master ordered him to treat the peasants, and he had felt bound to keep them company.
"Our master sent for us," said the gardener, speaking slowly in order not to confuse his words; while the concierge leaned against a venerable easy-chair, in order not to fall.
"Ah! here is my household!" said Robineau.
"It doesn’t seem very firm on its legs," said Alfred.
"What position do you fill here?" Robineau asked the gardener.
"What position, bourgeois? do you mean what do I do?"
"Exactly."
"I am Vincent, the gardener of the château—by your leave. And there’s work enough, God knows! You wait till you see the garden! You wouldn’t know where you were!"
"Is the garden large?"
"I should say so! It’s so big that I’ve only been taking care of half of it for a long while, because, you see, I can’t do everything."
"Why do you allow the courtyard to get all choked up with weeds, master gardener?" inquired Alfred.
"Oh! I can’t do everything, monsieur; besides, the courtyard ain’t the garden."
"He is right," said Robineau; "he should confine himself to his duties.—And you, behind him—what do you do on my property? Stand forward."
The concierge, forced to abandon the chair that supported him, staggered forward, and pulling out a red handkerchief filled with snuff to wipe his inflamed face, began by hiccoughing, then he commenced to laugh, and said:
"I’m the man—I’m the man as keeps you, master.—You see before you a buck who eats and drinks enough for six."
"You must not have ten servants like him, Robineau,—they’d ruin you," said Alfred.
"Ah! you are my concierge, are you, my man?"
"Yes, master—monseigneur, I mean; for your valet told us it amused you to be called monseigneur—and it don’t make any difference to me, you know; I’ll call you whatever you say—that’s me!"
"I believe this knave is drunk!" said Robineau. "What is your name, concierge?"
"My name’s Cunette, master, saving your presence."
"You have been drinking a good deal, Monsieur Cunette, it seems to me!"
"Always to your health, my venerable lord and master—and all ready to begin again when you say the word."
"By the way, who prepares dinner here? I don’t see any cook anywhere."
"I can’t do everything," muttered the gardener; "the kitchen ain’t in the garden."
"Oh! it’s all the same to me," stammered the concierge, clutching the easy-chair once more; "if you’d like to have me, master, I’ll go into the kitchen and I’ll fix you up something as if it was for myself!"
"My dear fellow," said Alfred to Robineau, "I trust that you will send Messieurs Vincent and Cunette to bed, and that they are not to do your cooking. If they are, I shall not eat a mouthful."
"This is very embarrassing!" said Robineau, running to the bell-cord and pulling it violently. François answered the summons, carrying a broom and a feather duster.
"What are you doing, François?"
"I am sweeping and cleaning the dining-room, monsieur. You should have seen the dust and cobwebs there! Bless my soul! the spiders I have killed!"
"And who is attending to the dinner?"
François looked at Vincent, who looked at Cunette, who looked at nothing, because he could no longer see.
"Well, knaves! do you mean to answer?" cried Robineau angrily. "Do you intend to give me spiders for dinner?"
"My dear fellow," said Alfred, "you chose to come here to occupy your château without warning, without securing a staff of servants and having whatever was necessary done in this old house; so you must expect not to find the service well regulated at the outset.—However, as we must dine, and as you have invited Monsieur Férulus, who certainly will not fail to come, we must try to find a cook in the vicinity, which can hardly be impossible.—Come, Monsieur Vincent, tell us—at what house hereabout do they live best?"
"Oh! bless me, monsieur, they live pretty well, everywhere; but best of all at Monsieur Cheval, the veterinary’s. He has a daughter, you see, who’s been in service at Clermont, at a rich merchant’s house."
"Well! that’s what we want to know.—François, go at once to Monsieur Cheval’s, and ask his daughter to be good enough to come to the château to do the cooking; she won’t refuse. Pick up provisions wherever you go; send to Talende for them, as it’s only a league and a half; lastly, arrange matters so that we shall not be obliged to go to bed without candles and without sheets."
François went to carry out Alfred’s orders, and Robineau said to the gardener and the concierge:
"Return to your work, and never come before me again in such a condition."
"We’ll go and drink your health again, monseigneur," said Cunette.
"No, you have drunk quite enough."
"Never mind, bourgeois; when we’re celebrating your arrival, we won’t hold back and look at the others; and everybody coming here to-night to dance, too!"
"I don’t want them to come to dance to-night; let them come some other time."
"But you invited all the good people who gave you such a fine concert," said Alfred, "and you must receive them. You have chosen to play the seigneur, so you must submit to the consequences.—Now let us inspect the château."
"I am going to guide my master," said Cunette.
"You’d do better by going to bed, drunkard!"
"I know my duties, monseigneur."
Robineau and his friends left the bedroom. Monsieur Cunette, who was exceedingly pig-headed in his cups, and who considered that the concierge should be present at the inspection of the château, followed his master, supporting himself against the walls.
They walked through long, venerable galleries, lighted by great ogive windows, through which the light found its way with difficulty, however, because the glass was coated with dust. They entered enormous rooms, all decorated in the same general style as Robineau’s bedroom, where the eye could hardly reach the ceiling.
"This château must have been in existence in the time of King Pepin," said Edouard.
"It is all superb," said Robineau, who gazed in admiration at every landscape painted over the doors and mirrors.
"Say rather that it must have been very beautiful two centuries ago!—But now!"
"Mirrors are still mirrors, my dear Alfred."
"Very good! but the gilding is no longer gilding, and the paintings look like old fans!"
"For a baron, you seem rather indifferent to the value of what is venerable. I am certain that Monsieur Edouard appreciates the beauties of this château better than you do."
"To my mind," said Edouard, "there is a touch of romance, of vagueness about it."
"Isn’t there? It’s magnificent! There’s room enough to lodge a regiment!"
"There’s just as many rooms on the second floor, master," mumbled Monsieur Cunette, standing at the door of the room in which the young men were. "It’s the same thing over again, except perhaps the ceilings are a little lower and there ain’t such pretty pictures as there is here."
"In that case it is unnecessary for us to inspect the second floor."
"Ah! messieurs, this gallery opens on a terrace from which we can see the whole neighborhood."
"The terrace is in rather bad condition."
"What are those slits in the wall?"
"They are loop-holes," said Edouard; "and there are machicoulis, I believe, in those sally-ports."
"Gachicoulis—that’s right," stammered the concierge.
"The devil!" said Robineau, "this was a stronghold! I am sure that it has sustained sieges. It’s strange that there’s no drawbridge."
"Oh! there was one, monsieur, a few years ago; but as the last owner had planted sugar-beets, for an experiment, in the garden yonder, it sickened me to do nothing but raise and lower the drawbridge for a few beets; so it occurred to me to fill up the ditch, and the bourgeois thought it was a good idea, and he just had a simple gate put up."
"That bourgeois could not have descended from the ancient owners of this château, if he had such commonplace ideas."
"I don’t know where he descended from, monsieur; but he bought this château for a factory, to carry on business in; but I suppose it didn’t suit, as he offered the estate for sale again."
"But to whom did this château formerly belong?"
"Who? Wait a bit—I don’t know the name, but it was an old dowager of a very old family. The old lady, who lived in the château, wouldn’t have any repairs made, they say, for fear of spoiling it.—So you see it’s just as it used to be."
"Some old dowager, I suppose," said Alfred, "who preferred to let the building fall to pieces, rather than let a profane hand touch these crumbling walls!"
"Well, I didn’t know her," said Cunette; "I was put here by the beet-sugar man, who left me here with my friend Vincent."
"Now, let us look at the tower.—Take care, messieurs, as you go down this staircase; almost all the steps are broken. My dear Robineau—I beg pardon, I mean Monsieur de la Roche-Noire—if you follow the old dowager’s system, it will be difficult soon to take a step in your château without running the risk of breaking your neck."
"Oh! I shall have everything repaired, made over new, messieurs. I’ve no desire to have my château crumble and fall on me.—Concierge, where does this long corridor lead?"
"To the North Tower, master. Oh! wait till you see—it’s splendid! There’s trapdoors, and—what do you call ’em—places you fall into?gimblettes!"
"Oubliettes, you mean, do you not?"
"Yes, monsieur, oubliettes."
"I don’t want to go where we’re likely to fall," cried Robineau; "go ahead, concierge, and guide us."
Cunette went forward, hugging the wall. They reached the door of the tower, whence a dark, narrow, winding staircase led to the rooms above.
"I should think that I was in the Castle of Udolpho," said Edouard as he ascended the stairs.
"I expect every moment to see a cavalier armed at all points," said Alfred.
Robineau said nothing; he was examining the old walls, blackened by time, which had seen the coming and going of so many generations. When the concierge attempted to open the door of the first floor, it shrieked on its hinges and the sound echoed through the empty apartments of the old tower.
"You must put oil on all these doors, concierge," said Robineau; "I don’t like that noise. Where are we? Are there trapdoors under our feet? Be careful to warn us."
"No, monsieur, this was the chevalier’s room, so they say."
"What chevalier?"
"Why! the chevalier who was the old dowager’s nephew, so far as I can understand."
"I won’t take it for my room, it’s too dark."
On the second floor Cunette showed them the room where theoubliettes—dungeons—were. But the sugar manufacturer had had all the trapdoors removed, and Robineau considered that he had done very well. Above was the arsenal of the château; but all that they found there were a few rusty cuirasses, a few hiltless swords, a few hammerless muskets, and a few headless lances. At last they arrived at the platform of the tower, whence there was a very beautiful prospect. The young men admired the view of the neighboring mountains, and of the pretty town of Saint-Amand, surrounded by water. While they were looking at the landscape, Monsieur Cunette prudently seated himself in the centre of the platform, saying:
"I can’t look from such a height myself; it always makes me dizzy."
They were about to leave the tower when Edouard cried:
"Look, Alfred, on that little mound just by the edge of the moat; do you see that man who is looking at the château so closely? do you recognize him?"
"Why, yes! It’s the man who was at the inn at Clermont-Ferrand, and who offered to be our guide. He has a face and a costume which render him easily recognizable."
"What!" said Robineau, walking toward them, "that evil-looking fellow here!—Yes, on my word! it’s he; I recognize that thick stick he is leaning on. How he stares at my château! He doesn’t move; one would say that he was a statue!—I would like right well to know why he stares at my property so!"
"There is really something very strange in that man’s expression and in his whole aspect," said Edouard.
"Strange! you are very moderate; say rather, suspicious, threatening, wicked. Why, he doesn’t take his eyes off my château!—I say, concierge!"
The concierge was nearly asleep; he raised his head, and said in an uncertain voice:
"What do you want?"
"What do you say, villain? To whom are you speaking?" cried Robineau angrily.
"Oh! I beg your pardon, monseigneur and master," said Cunette, struggling to his feet; "I thought I was talking with my friend Vincent, and that is why——"
"Try not to have any more such fits of abstraction, and tell me if you know that vagabond who has planted himself like a post in front of the tower, and is looking so earnestly in this direction?"
Cunette staggered forward; Alfred and Edouard each held an arm to keep him from falling over the rail, and the concierge put out his head to look for the man in question.
"Well?" said Robineau after a moment.
"Well, what?" rejoined Cunette, gazing about with a drunken stare.
"Do you know that man?"
"I don’t see a man any more than I do a bottle!"
"What do you say, you blockhead? Don’t you see him at the foot of the tower?"
"Oh! what a fool I am! saving your presence, monseigneur, I took him for a vine."
"Well! now that you do see him, do you recognize him?"
"That fellow? Wait a bit—ain’t it Vincent?"
"Why, no, idiot!"
"Then perhaps it’s Monsieur Flutanus, the schoolmaster."
"Evidently the rascal can’t see," said Robineau. "Come, messieurs, let us leave this tower; we have still another one to visit."
They left the North Tower, which did not seem destined to be the new owner’s favorite resort. Monsieur Cunette proposed that they should visit the dungeons underneath; but Robineau did not care to do so. They went to the other tower, where the apartments, being in a better state of preservation, had a less gloomy appearance. They found there a library, a bath-room, a music-room and a number of beds in reasonably good condition. At last they went out into the gardens.
Robineau was distressed to find that the sugar manufacturer had planted beets in three-fourths of the gardens; and Monsieur Vincent, who had admitted that he took care of only half of them, had allowed nettles and thistles to grow in the paths and under the shrubbery. Fruits, flowers and vegetables were planted pell-mell in the beds which had escaped the beets. The statues scattered here and there were in no better condition than the gardens. Hercules had lost his club, Venus had but one arm, Mercury was lame, the Graces were sadly maimed, Apollo had no nose, Hebe but one ear; Cupid alone was intact; that god sometimes resists the attacks of time.
Robineau heaved a sigh as he passed in front of each statue, saying:
"What a pity! such a lovely piece of work! That infernal manufacturer didn’t care for beautiful things!"
At the end of the gardens they entered the park, which was very large, but in which the brambles caught one’s feet at every step. At last, weary of walking, the young men returned to the château, inspected the stables, greenhouse and dairy, then adjourned to a salon on the ground floor for a little rest.
"Well, messieurs," said Robineau, "what do you think of my property?"
"It is very extensive," said Alfred, "but, if you follow my advice, you will pull down this old château, which it will ruin you to keep, and with the materials, build a pretty modern house, which it won’t take you three hours to walk over; then you will be able to make some profitable use of all the land that belongs to the estate."
"My dear Alfred," said Robineau, "I didn’t buy a château to have a mere bourgeois house; I should be a vandal if I followed your advice."
"You will ruin yourself if you don’t follow it."
"I will ruin myself if I choose, but I shall keep my château."
"Keep what you please, but don’t ask me again for my advice."
"And you, Monsieur Edouard," said Robineau, approaching the young poet, who seemed absorbed in thought, "what do you think of my château?"
"I like this country very much," said Edouard absent-mindedly.
"Look you, La Roche-Noire, I believe that we have done nothing but talk about your château since this morning, and it’s almost five o’clock. It’s beginning to be a little tiresome. Don’t you intend ever to dine in your house?"
"Pardon me, my friends, pardon me!—Holà! François!"
François obeyed the summons, dressed this time as a scullion, because he was obliged to fill many positions.
"Is somebody getting dinner for us, François?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle Cheval, who asked nothing better than to be useful to monsieur. Her father insisted on coming with her to help her."
"What! does the horse doctor do cooking also?" said Alfred.
"Oh! Monsieur Cheval says that he knows how to do everything, and that he could prepare a prescription and aragoûtat the same time; but he couldn’t come, because somebody sent for him to go to see a mare with the colic."
"That’s very lucky for us," said Alfred; "I am not at all anxious to partake of a dish prepared by the veterinary."