The White House Part 37

"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 chateau 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 chateau, if he had such commonplace ideas."

"I don't know where he descended from, monsieur; but he bought this chateau 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 chateau 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 chateau, 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 chateau 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 chateau 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 the _oubliettes_--dungeons--were. But the sugar manufacturer had had all the trapdoors removed, and Robineau considered that he had done very well.

Above was the a.r.s.enal of the chateau; but all that they found there were a few rusty cuira.s.ses, 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 chateau 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 chateau! 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 chateau!--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----"