t was a heavy mass of building, that chateau of Monsieur the

Marquis, with a large stone courtyard before it, and two stone

sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace before the

principal door. A stony business altogether, with heavy stone

balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers, and stone faces of

men, and stone heads of lions, in all directions. As if the Gorgon’s

head had surveyed it, when it was finished, two centuries ago.

Upon the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis,

flambeau preceded, went from his carriage, sufficiently disturbing

the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from an owl in the roof of

the great pile of stable building away among the trees. All else was

so quiet, that the flambeau carried up the steps, and the other

flambeau held at the great door, burnt as if they were in a close

room of state, instead of being in the open night air. Other sound

than the owl’s voice there was none, save the falling of the

fountain into its stone basin; for, it was one of those dark nights

that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a long

low sigh, and hold their breath again.

The great door clanged behind him, and Monsieur the Marquis

crossed a hall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, and

knives of the chase; grimmer with certain heavy riding-rods and

riding-whips, of which many a peasant, gone to his benefactor

Death, had felt the weight when his lord was angry.

Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast for

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the night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his flambeau-bearer going

on before, went up the staircase to a door in a corridor. This

thrown open, admitted him to his own private apartment of three

rooms: his bedchamber and two others. High vaulted rooms with

cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs upon the hearths for the

burning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries befitting the state

of a marquis in a luxurious age and country. The fashion of the last

Louis but one, of the line that was never to breakthe fourteenth

Louiswas conspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was

diversified by many objects that were illustrations of old pages in

the history of France.

A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a

round room, in one of the chateau’s four extinguisher-topped

towers. A small lofty room, with its window wide open, and the

wooden jalousie-blinds closed, so that the dark night only showed

in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with their broad

lines of stone colour.

“My nephew,” said the Marquis, glancing at the supper

preparation; “they said he was not arrived.”

Nor was he; but, he had been expected with Monseigneur.

“Ah! It is not probable he will arrive tonight; nevertheless, leave

the table as it is. I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour.”

In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and sat down

alone to his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair was opposite

to the window, and he had taken his soup, and was raising his