Chapter XI: The Château De La Roche-Noire.--A Villagers’ Fête

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 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 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 a _ragoût_ at 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."

At that moment Monsieur Férulus, dressed from head to foot in serge dyed black, and carrying under his arm a hat that was entirely without shape, entered the room where the young men were and executed a low reverence, accompanied by a _salutem omnibus_.

Robineau stepped forward cordially to greet his guest, and shook his hand heartily; he had not forgotten the speech of the morning.

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, I have come in response to your honorable invitation," said Férulus, clinging to Robineau’s hand.

"Monsieur Férulus, you give me great pleasure. To-day we shall have a simple little dinner; I have not yet had time to arrange my household."

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, the honor of dining with you will be the most delicious seasoning of the repast."

"Monsieur Férulus, I hope that you will come often to take----"

"Every day if such is your wish, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Is it possible, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, for me to refuse such society as yours; to deprive myself of the advantage of your conversation, and to fall behind you in making advances?--No, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, _lapides clamabunt_ before I refuse to dine with you."

Robineau had never been so plied with _La Roche-Noire_, and when he uttered that name Monsieur Férulus opened his mouth as if he would swallow the château. So Robineau continued to shake his hand; Férulus did the same by him, and each seemed determined not to relax his hold first. Luckily for them, François announced dinner, and this enabled them to separate.

They went to the dining room, where the table was laid. François had placed at one end of the table an old armchair on castors, which was a foot higher than the other chairs. It had been used by the old dowager, who was evidently very short. Robineau thought that his dignity called upon him to occupy it; so he perched himself on it and towered above his guests; whereupon Monsieur Férulus exclaimed: _"Sic itur ad astra!"_--But it was impossible for him to serve from that elevated seat, because he was too far from the dishes. After the soup, he decided to take a chair like the others, and he said to François:

"Move the armchair away; I will use it on state occasions."

The dinner, composed in large part of chickens, seemed not ill prepared; the new occupants of the château had acquired sharp appetites by their tour of inspection, and Monsieur Férulus ate as if he had walked twenty leagues.

"Monsieur Férulus," said Robineau, "have you lived long in this neighborhood?"

"Ten years or more, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire!"

"Did you know the late owner of the château--the sugar manufacturer?"

"Very little; he was a fool, an ignoramus; he never received his friends, never entertained! He was wrapped up in his beets!"

"Well! I mean to entertain, to receive my friends.--Are there any distinguished people in the neighborhood?"

"Not many; a few countrymen, a few obtuse creatures, who do not even send their children to my school."

"Ah! do you keep a school?"

"Yes, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, a school for males. I take children from the age of two to the age of twenty-five; I teach them everything, no matter what! When they leave my hands, they strike everybody dumb with amazement; they floor all their adversaries by the force of their logic! Belles-lettres, philosophy, physics, philology, chemistry, mathematics, dead languages, living languages, English handwriting, round-hand and copying-hand. I teach all these to my day scholars for six francs a month!"

"That’s nothing at all," said Edouard.

"Is it not, monsieur?--Well! these Auvergnats prefer to let their children play tip-cat rather than send them to me!--_O tempora, O mores!_"

"Is the society of Saint-Amand select?" inquired Robineau.

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, at Saint-Amand, as at all small towns, there are some agreeable and some original people. There is a market there every Saturday, for wine, hemp, paper and cheese.--I have only two children from the town in my school, but they belong to the best families."

"I have a letter for the local notary," said Robineau. "I shall go to see him to-morrow, and ask him to invite all the best people in the town to a fête, in my name."

Alfred and Edouard, who, albeit they did not admit it to each other, were engrossed by the same subject, tried to lead the conversation in another direction.

"Do you know the village of Chadrat?" Alfred asked.

"Chadrat! yes, it’s a vile hole--a wretched hamlet! I haven’t a child from Chadrat in my school! The natives, like the Tartars, are brought up in ignorance and in contempt of shirts. They don’t even know how to spell!"

"Have you ever heard of the White House?" asked Edouard.

"The White House?--That’s a female boarding-school, isn’t it?"

"No, it’s an unoccupied house that is the terror of the neighborhood."

"Oh, yes! I think I remember. I had some talk about it with my pupils, and we took a walk to the valley, where we saw nothing extraordinary.--Indeed, messieurs, I ask you whether people brought up in an atmosphere of knowledge can possibly believe in ghosts?--_Non est hic locus!_--I believe in fools, in idiots, in numskulls;--I have the honor to drink to the health of Monsieur de la Roche-Noire;--but ghosts!--_Retro Satanas!_--They don’t enter into my system of education."

"So I say," assented Robineau; "I call it nonsense--old women’s tales."

"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, you think like Tacitus, and you express your thoughts like Livy. I have the honor to drink to your health."

There were still several bottles of good wine in the cellars of the old castle. Monsieur Cunette had not dared to drink them, because an account had been taken before he was left in charge. Robineau caused a number of them to be produced; the young men did full justice to them, and Monsieur Férulus did nothing but hold out his glass and drain it. As they voted the dinner very good, it occurred to them, at dessert, to express their acknowledgments to Mademoiselle Cheval, whom Robineau wished to retain as cook at the château. François was told to send her in, and soon a tall, stoutly built damsel, with plump red cheeks, appeared and curtsied to the company.

"Mademoiselle Cheval," said Robineau, "I am very well pleased with the culinary talent you possess. I take you into my service as _cordon bleu_ if that is agreeable to you."

Mademoiselle Cheval coughed, bowed, wiped her forehead, and replied in a hoarse voice:

"Pardi! if I didn’t know how to cook, it would be funny--when I used to work for a master who had twenty thousand francs a year to spend and drank nothing but the best wines!--Dieu! wasn’t I well-fixed there! Always dressed in _Ségrovie_ wool! I’d be there still if I hadn’t fallen in love with one of the Swiss bodyguards!"

The cook was about to tell the story of her love affairs when the strains of bagpipe, fife and tambourine announced the arrival of the peasants. Robineau realized that it was his duty to go out and receive the guests to whom he had promised a ball. So they left the table, to the great regret of Monsieur Férulus, who seemed disposed to pass the evening there, and went into the courtyard, where the Auvergnats were assembled. Robineau tried to assume a seignorial air as he saluted the good people, who were glad to come to his house to dance. Alfred and Edouard accosted the prettiest of the peasant girls, to obtain a moment’s distraction; for one must needs divert one’s thoughts, even when one is in love, and especially when one is not certain of being loved in return. The two young men were not yet at that point; they thought a great deal about little Isaure, it is true, but they did not choose to avow to themselves that there was anything more than curiosity in their desire to see her again. When we begin to love, we play with our sentiments; and when we try to overcome them, we discover that it is too late to remedy the mischief.

They went to the garden, and selected the place where the beets were fewest and stationed an orchestra there on empty casks; that was not very dignified, but as the notabilities of the neighborhood were not present, they could afford to be less particular. The orchestra consisted of bagpipes, drums and fifes. The peasants took their places in high glee. Robineau considered it incumbent on him to open the ball, and, his two friends having already invited the prettiest girls, he selected the one who wore the best clothes. Monsieur Férulus, seeing that monseigneur proposed to dance, hastened to take a partner and to stand opposite Monsieur de la Roche-Noire.

The ball began; the Auvergnat music was not melodious, but it was noisy, and the dancers, male and female, were accustomed to accompany their steps with shouts and clapping of hands. It was difficult to remain indifferent amid such an uproar. Alfred and Edouard capered and twirled about with their partners, and laughingly struck the great hands that the peasant girls held out to them. Monsieur Férulus never ceased to say to his partner:

"You are opposite Monsieur de la Roche-Noire; be careful of your steps, stand straight, lower your eyes, and watch your partner."

The Auvergnate followed her own devices, shouting, stamping and clapping her hands. As the Auvergne _bourrées_ never come to an end, Robineau danced for half an hour, until he could hold out no longer. Monsieur Férulus was drenched, but he thought that politeness forbade him to leave the ball before Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Luckily for them both, the concierge and the gardener appeared laden with hampers of wine, and the orchestra spontaneously paused to partake of refreshments.

They drank, then the dancing began again; they stopped again to drink, then returned to their capering. This lasted four hours, for the Auvergnats are indefatigable drinkers and dancers.

But it was after eleven o’clock; the open-air ball-room, which had been indifferently well lighted with candle ends, began to grow dark. Alfred and Edouard had taken their partners to walk in the garden, and the village maidens had returned to the dance in some slight disarray. Some papas and mammas were sleeping on the benches; Monsieur Férulus had taken his leave long before, and Robineau, who was anxious to retire, was thinking that he would be glad to show his guests to the door, when he heard outcries and loud oaths from one part of the assemblage.

Messieurs Vincent and Cunette did not dance, but they had not stopped drinking since the opening of the ball. The concierge had finished himself, and the gardener had attained the level reached by his comrade. But Monsieur Vincent was ugly in his cups; it took very little to anger him, and then he always wanted to fight everybody. He had fallen into a dispute with an Auvergnat, and they had already come to blows, Cunette, like a staunch friend, taking Vincent’s part, when Robineau, who was very angry that anyone should presume to fight on his premises, appeared on the scene, not doubting for an instant that his presence would suffice to restore tranquillity.

"What! is it my concierge and my gardener who are making all this noise?" he said as he drew near. "Why are you fighting, knaves?"

"Go to the devil! Let us alone!" said Cunette, not recognizing his master. "I am defending my friend Vincent, and----"

"Villain! do you dare to speak thus to me?"

"I’ll hit you if you come any nearer!" cried Vincent, striking to right and left; and the new seigneur, being in the midst of the _mêlée_, was in imminent danger of receiving a storm of blows, when Mademoiselle Cheval succeeded in forcing her way through the crowd, and taking her master in her arms as easily as if she were lifting a child, she bore him away, clearing a passage by distributing fisticuffs on every side.

Meanwhile François, Alfred and Edouard, each armed with a broomstick, succeeded in driving all the guests outside the walls. Messieurs Cunette and Vincent went to bed, and peace finally reigned once more within the château.

"That was a very nice party!" said Alfred, as he and Edouard returned, laughing heartily, from expelling the peasants.

"Oh, yes!" replied Robineau, feeling his ribs, "I shan’t forget my ball! If ever I ask those worthies to dance here again!--Ouf! what an infernal racket! I came near being beaten to death!--And how disrespectful my servants were. I will discharge them to-morrow."

"Why, my dear fellow, they were drunk! You must forgive them."

"They will simply get drunk again!"

"But you won’t employ them every day distributing provisions and entertaining the peasants!"

"No! God forbid!"

"You chose to begin on a large scale; one must pay for one’s apprenticeship in everything."

"Good-night, Monsieur Jules," said Edouard.

"Good-night, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire," said Alfred, following Edouard from the room.

Robineau was left alone. It was nearly midnight; his bedroom was lighted only by a single candle and three-fourths of it was in darkness. Robineau called François to help him to undress, and ordered him to sleep in the adjoining room, so that he might come to him at once if he should call.

At last Robineau climbed into bed, after placing a lamp by the bedside. The man of Clermont-Ferrand recurred to his mind. His bedroom began to seem too large; the hangings to be very gloomy, and Susannah’s face, which he had admired in the morning, frightened him at night. He was no longer so much in love with the antique, and he did not go to sleep until he had determined to begin on the morrow to give a more modern aspect to his domain.