masters, and many a time did he sigh and mourn at not receiving any news of you. He is beneath the sod now, resting after a well-spent life; but I, Joseph, his son, am here to take his place, and devote my life to your service. What an honor it is to have you in my house! Ah, my wife will be happy to see you; she has all her life heard of the Clamerans.”
Here he ran into the garden, and called: “Toinette! I say, Toinette! Come here quickly!”
This cordial welcome delighted Louis. So many years had gone by since he had been greeted with an expression of kindness, or felt the pressure of a friendly hand.
In a few moments a handsome, dark-eyed young woman entered the room, and stood blushing with confusion at sight of the stranger.
“This is my wife, monsieur,” said Joseph, leading her toward Louis, “but I have not given her time to put on her finery. This is M. the marquis, Antoinette.”
The farmer’s wife bowed, and, having nothing to say, gracefully uplifted her brow upon which the marquis pressed a kiss.
“You will see the children in a few minutes, M. the marquis,” said Joseph; “I have sent to the school for them.”
The worthy couple overwhelmed the marquis with attentions.
After so long a walk he must be hungry, they said; he must take a glass of wine now, and breakfast would soon be ready; they would be so proud and happy if M. the marquis would partake of a country breakfast!
Louis willingly accepted their invitation; and Joseph went to the cellar after the wine, while Toinette ran to catch her fattest pullet.
In a short time, Louis sat down to a table laden with the best of everything on the farm, waited upon by Joseph and his wife, who watched him with respectful interest and awe.
The children came running in from school, smeared with the juice of berries. After Louis had embraced them they stood off in a corner, and gazed at him with eyes wide open, as if he were a rare curiosity.
The important news had spread, and a number of villagers and countrymen appeared at the open door, to speak to the Marquis of Clameran.
“I am such a one, M. the marquis; don’t you remember me?” “Ah! I should have recognized you anywhere.” “The late marquis was very good to me.” Another would say, “Don’t you remember the time when you lent me your gun to go hunting?”
Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protestations and proofs of devotion which had not chilled with time.
The kindly voices of these honest people recalled many pleasant moments of the past, and made him feel once more the fresh sensations of his youth.
Here, at least, no echoes of his stormy life had been heard; no suspicions of his shameful career were entertained by these humble villagers on the borders of the Rhone.
He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accomplice of London swindlers, delighted in these marks of respect and veneration, bestowed upon him as the representative of the house of Clameran; it seemed to make him once more feel a little self-respect, as if the future were not utterly hopeless.
Ah, had he possessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, how happy he would be to peacefully end his days in this his native village!
But this rest after so many vain excitements, this haven after so many storms and shipwrecks, was denied him. He was penniless; how could he live here when he had nothing to live upon?
This thought of his pressing want gave him courage to ask Joseph for the key of the chateau, that he might go and examine its condition.
“You won’t need the key, except the one to the front door, M. the marquis,” replied Joseph.
It was but too true. Time had done its work, and the lordly manor of Clameran was nothing but a ruin. The rain and sun had rotted the shutters so that they were crumbling and dilapidated.
Here and there were traces of the friendly hand of St. Jean, who had tried to retard the total ruin of the old chateau; but of what use were his efforts?
Within, the desolation was still greater. All of the furniture which Louis had not dared to sell stood in the position he left it, but in what a state! All of the tapestry hangings and coverings were moth-eaten and in tatters; nothing seemed left but the dust-covered woodwork of the chairs and sofas.
Louis was almost afraid to enter these grand, gloomy rooms, where every footfall echoed until the air seemed to be filled with sounds strange and ominous.
He almost expected to see the angry old marquis start from some dark corner, and heap curses on his head for having dishonored the name.
He turned pale with terror, when he suddenly recalled the scene of his fatal stumble and poor Gaston’s death. The room was surely inhabited by the spirits of these two murdered men. His nerves could not bear it, and he hurried out into the open air and sunshine.
After a while, he recovered sufficiently to remember the object of his visit.
“Poor St. Jean was foolish to let the furniture in the chateau drop to pieces. Why did he not use it?”
“My father would not have dared to touch anything without receiving an order, M. the marquis.”
“He was very unwise to wait for an order, when anything was going to destruction without benefiting anyone. As the chateau is fast approaching the condition of the furniture, and my fortune does not permit me to repair it, I will sell it before the walls crumble away.”
Joseph could scarcely believe his ears. He regarded the selling of the chateau of Clameran as a sacrilege; but he was not bold of speech, like his father, so he dared not express an opinion.
“Would there be difficulty in selling this ruin?” continued Louis.
“That depends upon the price you ask, M. the marquis; I know a man who would purchase the property if he could get it cheap.”
“Who is he?”
“M. Fougeroux, who lives on the other side of the river. He came from Beaucaire, and twelve years ago married a servant-maid of the late Countess de la Verberie. Perhaps M. the marquis remembers her—a plump, bright-eyed brunette, named Mihonne.”
Louis did not remember Mihonne.
“When can we see this Fougeroux?” he inquired.
“To-day; I will engage a boat to take us over.”
“Well, let us go now. I have no time to lose.”
An entire generation has passed away since Louis had last crossed the Rhone in old Pilorel’s boat.
The faithful ferryman had been buried many years, and his duties were now performed by his son, who, possessing great respect for traditional opinions, was delighted at the honor of rowing the Marquis of Clameran in his boat, and soon had it ready for Louis and Joseph to take their seats.
As soon as they were fairly started, Joseph began to warn the marquis against the wily Fougeroux.
“He is a cunning fox,” said the farmer; “I have
