I was received with all the consideration due to an English
milord, with, of course, an unfathomable purse.
My host conducted me to my apartment. It was a large room, a little
somber, paneled with dark wainscoting, and furnished in a stately and
somber style, long out of date. There was a wide hearth, and a heavy
mantelpiece, carved with shields, in which I might, had I been curious
enough, have discovered a correspondence with the heraldry on the outer
walls. There was something interesting, melancholy, and even depressing
in all this. I went to the stone-shafted window, and looked out upon a
small park, with a thick wood, forming the background of a chateau which
presented a cluster of such conical-topped turrets as I have just now
mentioned.
The wood and chateau were melancholy objects. They showed signs of
neglect, and almost of decay; and the gloom of fallen grandeur, and a
certain air of desertion hung oppressively over the scene.
I asked my host the name of the chateau.
"That, Monsieur, is the Chateau de la Carque," he answered.
"It is a pity it is so neglected," I observed. "I should say, perhaps, a
pity that its proprietor is not more wealthy?"
"Perhaps so, Monsieur."
"_Perhaps_?" I repeated, and looked at him. "Then I suppose he is
not very popular.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83