He stood as if nailed to the spot for several minutes, and, except for the impatience of his horse tossing his head and pawing the ground, he would have forgotten entirely that Monsieur de Boisguilbault had another hour to wait for him.
He had had to make several detours to reach the foot of the hill, and the distance in a straight line was not so great that the two young people could not see each other quite plainly. Gilberte observed the hesitation of the horseman, who could not make up his mind to lose sight of her; so she went behind the rose-bushes, to conceal herself from him, but she continued to watch him for a long time through the branches.
Janille had walked in the opposite direction to meet her master. Not until Gilberte heard her father's voice did she break the spell that held her. It was the first time that she had ever allowed Janille to anticipate her in going to meet him and relieve him of his game-bag and his stick.
As he approached Boisguilbault, Emile made and remade a hundred times his plan of attack upon the fortress where that incomprehensible individual lay entrenched.
Impelled by his romantic disposition, he had a sort of presentiment that Gilberte's destiny—and consequently his own—was written in mysterious characters in some obscure corner of that old manor, whose high gray walls rose before him.
Tall, gloomy, melancholy and silent as its aged lord, that isolated abode seemed to defy the bold attacks of curiosity. But Emile was spurred on by a passionate determination. As Gilberte's confidant and agent, he said to himself, pressing the rose, already withered, against his lips, that he would have the necessary courage and address to triumph over every obstacle.
He found Monsieur de Boisguilbault alone on his stoop, idle and impassive as always. He made haste to apologize for delaying the old gentleman's dinner, on the plea that he had lost his way, and, being as yet unfamiliar with the neighborhood, had passed nearly two hours finding it.
Monsieur de Boisguilbault asked no questions as to the route he had taken. One would have said that he dreaded the name of Châteaubrun; but, with refinement of courtesy, he assured his guest that he had no idea of the time and had not thought of being impatient. He had been somewhat disturbed, none the less, as Emile soon discovered from some faltering remarks that he made, and the young man fancied that he could see that, amid the profound tedium of his solitary life, the marquis's sensitive nature would have suffered keenly if he had broken his word.
The dinner was excellent and served by the old retainer with scrupulous punctuality. He was the only servant to be seen in the château. The others, buried in the kitchen, which was underground, did not appear at all. It seemed that this was the result of a sort of standing order, and that their dean was the only one who did not offend the master's eye.
The old man was very infirm, but he was so accustomed to his duties that the marquis had to say almost nothing to him; and when it happened that he did not anticipate his master's desires, a sign was sufficient to convey them to him.