I followed, and for a time we held the pace without exchanging a word, he busy with his own thoughts, and I wrapped in contemplation of the marvellous turn of fortune which had not only restored me all that I had lost, but which had also given me the friendship of a man like this. I looked at him from time to time, admiring more than ever the fine face and graceful figure. He was, I judged, not over thirty; but there was something in the glance of his eye, in the set of his lips, which told me that he had played his part in the world for many years. Perhaps the time was at hand when I should play my part, too.
At last we drew rein to give our horses breath, and my companion pointed out to me some of the features of the country. To our right was the gentle valley of the Vienne, and finally we dipped into it and crossed the river at a ford.
“Now I am at home,” he said, looking about with a smile of pleasure. “But in this case home is not without its dangers, for I may be recognized at any turn, and the adventure of this morning warns me to be careful. At the village, there may even be another detachment of Republicans. So I think it would be wise to turn aside and take that path yonder, by which we shall not only avoid the town but come directly to my estate.”
“Very well, monsieur,” I agreed; and in another moment we had plunged among the trees.
The soft earth of the wood, with its carpet of leaves, deadened the sound of our horses’ hoofs and we went on silently among the shadows for some time. Then we turned abruptly to the left, the wood opened, and again I saw the river gleaming before us.
“There is the château,” he said suddenly, and following his gesture I saw a lofty tower rising above the trees. “That tower,” he added, smiling, “is my heritage from an amorous ancestor, who built it some hundreds of years ago to shelter a fair lady, whom a rival coveted. The tower was designed to withstand attack—and did withstand it—so the lady remained in our family and helped perpetuate it. That brave Marquis de Favras, who died so gallantly on the Place de Grève two years ago, belonged to that branch; so you see we have no reason to be ashamed of it, however irregular its origin. There is the modern wing,” he added, as we came out suddenly upon the road, “built by my father.”
It was a handsome building of white stone, and as we approached it I saw two ladies strolling upon the terrace which ran across its front. At the gate, a man, swart and heavy-set, stood for a moment eyeing us.
“Ah, Pasdeloup!” cried my companion; and at the word the man sprang to the gate and threw it back with a clang, his face beaming. “Alert as ever!” added his master, waved his hand to him and galloped past, while the other gazed after him with something very like adoration transfiguring his rough countenance.
At the sound of our horses’ hoofs upon the gravelled road, the ladies turned and looked toward us. Then one of them flew down the steps, her hands outstretched, her face alight.
“Madame!” cried my companion. “Madame!” and he threw himself from his horse and caught her to his heart.