On returning from dining with the Marquis de Courtornieu, the evening before, the duke had gone through the chateau; but this hasty examination by candle-light had not satisfied his curiosity. He wished to see it in detail by daylight.
Followed by his son, he explored one after another of the rooms of the princely abode; and, with every step, the recollections of his infancy crowded upon him.
Lacheneur had respected everything. The duke found articles as old as himself, religiously preserved, occupying the old familiar places from which they had never been removed.
When his inspection was concluded:
“Decidedly, Marquis,” he exclaimed, “this Lacheneur was not such a rascal as I supposed. I am disposed to forgive him a great deal, on account of the care which he has taken of our house in our absence.”
Martial seemed engrossed in thought.
“I think, Monsieur,” he said, at last, “that we should testify our gratitude to this man by paying him a large indemnity.”
This word excited the duke’s anger.
“An indemnity!” he exclaimed. “Are you mad, Marquis? Think of the income that he has received from my estate. Have you forgotten the calculation made for us last evening by the Chevalier de la Livandiere?”
“The chevalier is a fool!” declared Martial promptly. “He forgot that Lacheneur has trebled the value of Sairmeuse. I think that our family honor requires us to bestow upon this man an indemnity of at least one hundred thousand francs. This would, moreover, be a good stroke of policy in the present state of public sentiment, and His Majesty would, I am sure, be much pleased.”