“Coulancourt!” returned our hero, with a start.
“Yes,” said Annette Moret, the dame’s eldest unmarried daughter. “This is where the good duke was born; he was then only the Count de Coulancourt, his elder brother the duke held the great estates near Lyons, at whose death the late duke came to the title, and went to live near Lyons, and there married an English lady. But mon Dieu! how I am talking, and keeping you, monsieur, standing here in the yard!”
Lieutenant Thornton was so much surprised that he stood immersed in thought, till roused by Annette requesting him to walk in, having unlocked a door from a bunch of keys in her little basket.
Our hero looked round astonished, for all within the mansion was neat, and carefully preserved; they passed into the kitchen, where every utensil was bright and tidy, as if a dozen fairy hands had presided over them.
“Really, Mademoiselle Annette,” said our hero, “one would imagine some fairies had the care of everything here; all is so neat and carefully arranged.”
Annette laughed, saying—
“Oh, monsieur, the fairies are my sister and myself, and our farm girls. Madame Coulancourt spares no expense, and orders that every article should be kept as neat as if she lived here herself. Her intendant and his daughter come here twice a year to receive rents, and see that madame’s tenants want for nothing. The people here would die for madame if she required it. The intendant is a good man, and his daughter is a pretty nice girl; they stay here a month, perhaps more, at a time. But come upstairs, monsieur; my mother desired me to put you in Monsieur l’Intendant’s room, and your man can have his servant’s chamber.”
Full of thought Lieutenant Thornton followed Annette, who was a very tidy and well-mannered girl, though not so pretty as her younger sister, whom our hero had met on the road.
“I did not bring the keys of the grand saloon, monsieur, but here is Monsieur l’Intendant’s room;” and throwing open a door, she entered, and unbolted and unbarred the shutters. This room was small, but remarkably neat; there was a book-case full of books, a fowling-piece, a brace of pistols over the mantel-piece, a telescope on a stand, and sundry useful articles on the tables.
“That door,” said Annette, pointing to one, “leads to a bedroom, which you can occupy; all is aired and prepared, for we expect monsieur and his daughter in a week.”