THE CHÂTEAU
About a quarter of an hour later the three Americans were standing before a high and ornamental gateway which led into the great park belonging to the château. Only a small portion of the De Morancourt coat of arms which once adorned it remained in place, and the ancient bricks showed in many places the destructive effects of German shells.
"This must be one of those real, bona-fide, genuine châteaus we read about," commented Chase.
"Yes; according to what I have been told it dates back to the time of Louis the Fourteenth," said the art student.
"I do wonder what could have become of all those pictures and art treasures!" mused Don.
"A lot of other people have been wondering, too; and whether they will ever get beyond the wondering stage or not is problematical."
"Suppose we get into the wandering stage."
"I don't see any stage."
"At any rate, let us hope there won't be anything unlucky about this stage of our journey," put in Chase, dryly.
Entering the grounds, the three found themselves on a wide carriage road, bordered on each side with stately trees. The moonlight flooded the scene with unusual brilliancy, and some of the ancient oaks, which had escaped the destroying shells, made a grimly-impressive picture, as their boughs and branches were silhouetted against the steely bluish tones of the sky. Here and there the roadway was deeply shadowed; in other places, it gleamed with a ghostly paleness amid the surrounding gloom.
At one time the park had evidently been anything but a haven of refuge; for the same sort of havoc which existed elsewhere was to be found on all sides—fallen trees, mutilated trunks and the earth torn up by projectiles. And Chase Manning observed, with considerable uneasiness, that some of the shells must have very recently fallen.
"I declare, this makes me think of some of those old-time romantic novels!" declared Dunstan, with enthusiasm. "What an air of charm and mystery there is all about us! And look, mes amis, what do I see?—Actually a marble group which has probably weathered the storm of centuries past and strangely enough even escaped the present danger!"
In a glade to their left the ambulanciers saw what had once been a fountain. The center of the spacious marble basin was occupied by a gigantic figure of Neptune surrounded by a number of rearing and plunging horses. In the full glare of the moonlight, portions of the ancient marble forms were clearly revealed in broad masses of greenish white, against the background of trees beyond; the rest disappeared in the shadows.
Even Chase—Chase who rarely took heed of the pleasing or the picturesque—gave an exclamation expressive of admiration.
"By George!—just to see that is worth all the trouble we have taken!" cried Don, as they walked up to obtain a view at closer range.
"At some future time it means another sketch for my portfolio," declared Dunstan. "How very still these fiery-looking horses simulating rapid action are," he continued, reflectively, "but how vivid the impression of life and activity each conveys to the mind! And how very silent they are! Yet one gifted with a little imagination can almost hear them snorting, in their haste and excitement."
"Pretty good, boy! Keep it up," said Chase.
"And Neptune, gaunt and threatening, with his arm upraised, appears to be urging them on, as though unmindful of the fact that he and they are forever destined to remain immovable!"
"Bravo!"
Standing before the time-worn group, in the lonely and deserted park, with the vegetation all about them rustling in the faint breeze, Don Hale felt a peculiar sensation of awe stealing over him.
"Dunstan was right—it makes a chap almost feel as if he were living in another age," he thought. And then, aloud, the aviator's son exclaimed: "How curious it is to think that perhaps two or three hundred years ago people may have looked upon this very same group!"
"Yes; in all probability kings and courtiers, grand seigneurs and noble dames once cast their eyes upon it," remarked Dunstan. "Ah, if I could only invoke the muse, what a grand poem I could compose!"
"And by so doing either provoke or amuse us," chuckled Chase, with the first laugh he had been heard to utter during the day.
"Good!—Chase's second joke!" cried Don, approvingly.
"Allons, mes amis—let's go!"
The trio, skirting around the fountain, reached the road again and continued to tramp steadily on. The way led up a slight ascent, and occasionally, through openings in the trees, they caught glimpses of charming bits of scenery, with shadowy, mysterious-looking hills looming up beyond. Then they observed what had once been very wonderful lawns, but which were now mere fields overrun with weeds and tall grasses and deeply pitted here and there with shell-holes.
They were approaching a bend, and the moment the turn was reached Dunstan stopped short, and, with a wave of his hand, exclaimed dramatically:
"'Behold yon tower;
Mark well those crumbling walls—
Those silent chroniclers of years gone by,
Of tyranny and tears!'"
"The Château de Morancourt is before our eyes!" cried Don. "Hooray!"
"The park seems to equal the château and the château to equal the park," commented Chase.
Not far ahead, situated on the crest of a hill, the grim-looking mediæval structure, with its wings and gables and partly demolished tower, presented a singularly impressive appearance. From where they stood the soft, mysterious light of the moon mercifully concealed from view the great damage wrought by the missiles.
"En avant!—Forward march!" cried Dunstan. "Isn't it curious to think, fellows, that not so very long ago the Germans learned about the tower being used as an observation post, and the result was——"
"That there are no longer any observers, I suppose?" broke in Don.
"Exactly!"
"A nice place you have led us to!" growled Chase.
He gave a perceptible start, for at that very instant a star shell soared majestically up from the German lines, and then, having reached a great altitude, burst into flames, casting all around it a brilliant whitish glare.
The nearer the ambulanciers approached the Château de Morancourt the grander and more awesome the massive structure appeared. Over the air from afar came the faint rumble of the convoys, but a strange, melancholy silence, which accorded well with the solemn aspect of the building and its surroundings, hovered over the park.
"How suggestive of dark deeds and mystery!" murmured Dunstan. Then he added, meditatively: "I wonder if we couldn't manage to get a look inside!"
"By all means let's try," cried Don.
The three walked under a magnificent porte-cochère, supported by graceful pillars, and came to a halt before the entrance. It was very dark and somber in the shadow—so dark and somber indeed that the massive door which surmounted a broad flight of stone steps leading up on either side could be scarcely seen.
Don, Dunstan and Chase could make out the dim outlines of a marble lion supporting a shield which stood on a pedestal at the bottom of the escalier, or steps. Without stopping to admire its savage and formidable appearance, they began to mount, feeling their way by means of the massive marble balustrade. Arriving at the top, Dunstan gave the big door a vigorous push. So did Don and Chase. Once, twice—three times they tried it, but their efforts were of no avail.
"Nothing doing!" growled Chase. "It would take a German shell to open that ton of door."
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," laughed Don.
By this time, their eyes having become more accustomed to the darkness, they were able to discern some of the details on the great entrance and on the magnificent lamps which flanked it to the right and left.
"Splendid," exclaimed Dunstan. "It makes me all the more determined to gain an entrance."
And so speaking, he skipped lightly down the opposite flight of steps. His companions clattered after him.
Then the three began walking along by the side of the building, and though it was all very much obscured it was not so dark as to prevent them from detecting the presence of scars and holes and cracks which everywhere disfigured the walls. Passing around several wings into the full glare of the moonlight, the ambulanciers kept steadily on until the imposing façade of the château was reached. Great bay windows and projecting portions relieved the structure from any appearance of monotony, and here and there thick masses of vines climbing over the weather-stained walls helped to soften their grim and threatening aspect. The lower windows were within easy reach of the ground, and as Don Hale's eyes lighted on the third from the end he gave a loud cry of exultation.
"Look, fellows—how's that for luck! There's one almost entirely demolished."
"Unkind fate for the château is kind fate for us," exclaimed Dunstan.
"I hope we shall not find ourselves in a waking nightmare," declared Chase. "I'm not so keen about going inside."
"Oh, pshaw!" broke in the aviator's son, impatiently.
He sprinted over to the window, and, reaching up, gripped hold of the sill. Strong and muscular, it was an easy task for the boy to draw himself up and climb astride it. Leaning forward, he peered eagerly inside the room. The window, like every other along that side of the building, admitted a shaft of moonlight, which, for a short distance, streaked weirdly across the floor. Don found himself staring at his own shadow, singularly clear-cut in the midst of the pale greenish-blue patch before him; then his glances wandered beyond. But all was shrouded in deep obscurity.
Without hesitation the boy eased himself down into the room, which he could tell was of immense and imposing dimensions.
"Come on, fellows," he called, "so in case I fall into the cellar you can pick me up."
Bringing forth a small flash-light from an inside pocket, Don turned on the brilliant rays just as the figure of Dunstan loomed up in the window.
"This is an adventure that appeals to my imagination," remarked the art student, cheerfully, as he clambered down and joined his companion.
A moment later Chase stood beside them.
Don Hale sent the beam of light flashing all around them, and as its rays revealed the richness of the interior all three ambulanciers gave voice to emphatic expressions of admiration.
"Great, splendid—superb!" cried Dunstan. "I've just discovered what's been the matter with me all along—this is the sort of place I should have lived in."
"Quite naturally; artists as a rule inhabit castles," remarked Chase, dryly, "though sometimes they are airy, like the stuff of which dreams are made. By George, fellows, what a spooky-looking place!"
"It is, indeed," asserted Dunstan, meditatively. "Strange that the Count de Morancourt should have left without putting his goods in storage!"
"Nothing strange about it," said Don. "I reckon the furniture vans wouldn't have lasted very long—see!" The light fell across several huge apertures in the opposite wall which told of the accuracy of the German artillery. "Must have been pretty hot around here, eh?"
"Quite so," responded Dunstan laconically.
The three walked around a massive oak table in the center of the room and then up to a huge fireplace at one end, where they halted. The ribbon of light quivered and flashed on an ancient suit of armor hanging just above and from there traveled to a great shield with the coat of arms of the De Morancourts emblazoned upon it. Higher up the head of a stag suddenly popped forth from the darkness, its glassy eyes seeming to stare down upon them with a look of wonder.
"Perhaps, in the age of the bow and arrow, some old ancestor of the count's brought him low," commented Chase.
Led by Don Hale, the ambulanciers continued their tour of inspection. Now the flash-light brought into view old tapestries of mellow and harmonious tones, or rows of ancestral portraits, many probably dating from the dim and distant past. The earliest of these, very somber in tone and much cracked, represented the De Morancourts as stern-visaged and august-looking personages who had a penchant for wearing armor and clasping heavy swords.
"I shouldn't like to have any old chaps of their type challenging me to fight a duel," laughed Dunstan. "Suppose we see what the rest of the château has to offer us."
Both footsteps and voices echoed in a most uncanny fashion, and Chase found that somehow the darkness and mystery of the great interior were producing rather creepy sensations within him. Often, to his imagination, the room became peopled with an assemblage of the great personages of the past. And then, though he knew it was quite absurd, an unpleasant, vaguely-defined fear assailed him that at any moment some one might step out of the shadows and demand the reason for their presence in those ancestral halls.
The next apartment the visitors entered was almost as large and even more gorgeous than the preceding. A magnificent oval painting adorned the ceiling. The walls were wainscoted with oak, and a richly-carved mantelpiece of the same wood particularly attracted the ambulanciers' attention.
"Now I can better understand the value of the things which disappeared," declared Chase. "No wonder such a howl went up."
"I hate mysteries which are never solved," cried Don. "I wish to goodness that before the section moves on some one would get busy and give us an answer to this riddle."
"No danger," grunted Chase.
In a deep bay window the light disclosed fine stained glass, evidently of rich colors and graceful designs.
So interested was the young chap from Maine in examining the various furnishings that he did not notice a chair lying in his path until he brought up against it with considerable violence.
Uttering an exclamation of impatience, he gave the offending piece of furniture a vigorous shove, which sent it flying directly into the curtained doorway leading to the dining-room.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Dunstan, pleasantly.
"Not enough for it to get any mention in the Parisian papers," growled the other.
The Red Cross men thought that the dining-room, with its heavily-beamed ceiling, carved sideboards and china closets, in spite of a certain air of heaviness and austerity, must have been a very pleasant place in which to eat.
"The château seems more like a museum than a place of residence," declared Don. "But, fellows, we'd better hustle a bit faster. You know a German marmite may be flying in this direction at any minute."
"A sensible suggestion," said the art student; "for nothing is more certain than that we are in the midst of the greatest of uncertainties."
Reaching the entrance hall they discovered a very elegant staircase, with ornate newel posts and balustrades, ascending to a balcony.
"Just a moment—let's finish our inspection of the first floor before venturing into the unknown regions above," exclaimed Chase.
Cautiously following the pathway of light, which ever streamed far in advance, the trio presently entered a long apartment which brought forth involuntary exclamations of admiration from all.
"The ballroom!" cried Dunstan.
"And the show-place of the whole château," exclaimed Don.
"It certainly is a show, all right," commented Chase. "What staggering sums of money it must have taken to run such an establishment!"
"I don't think I could have managed it on my income," laughed Don.
On one side of the ballroom stretched gilded mirrors and magnificent decorations, while on the other a long row of high, arched windows faced the park. In whichever direction the light traveled some new and unexpected beauty flashed into view. The beams sparkled and shone on candelabra, on paintings and tapestries, and sometimes reaching up to the ceiling disclosed a bluish vault, in imitation of the heavens, studded with golden stars.
"Enough of this!" cried Chase, suddenly. "We don't want to stay here all night."
And turning abruptly on his heel, the new member of the Red Cross hurried away.
A few moments later the three uninvited visitors were ascending the stairway.