The day of sale arrived. Early in the morning Grinselhof was invaded by all sorts of people, who, moved by curiosity or a desire to purchase, overran every nook and corner of the house, examining the furniture and estimating its value.
De Vlierbeck had caused every thing that was to be sold to be carried into the most spacious apartments, where, aided by his daughter, he passed the entire preceding night in dusting, cleaning, and polishing the various articles, so that they might prove more attractive to competitors. He had no personal interest in this labor; for, his funded property having been sold some days before at great loss, it was certain that the sale of all his remaining possessions would not exceed the amount of his debts. It was a noble sentiment of honor and probity that compelled him to sacrifice his rest for his creditors, so as to diminish as much as he could the amount of their losses. It was clear that De Vlierbeck did not intend to prolong his stay at Grinselhof after the sale; for among the articles to be offered were the only two bedsteads in the house, with their bedding, and a large quantity of clothes belonging to him and his daughter.
Very early in the day Lenora went to the farm-house, where she remained until all was over. At ten o'clock the saloon was full of people. Nobles and gentlefolks of both sexes were mixed up with brokers and second-hand dealers who had come to Grinselhof with the hope of getting bargains. Peasants might be seen talking together, in low voices, with surprise at Do Vlierbeck's ruin; and there were even some who laughed openly and joked as the auctioneer read the terms of sale!
As the salesman put up a very handsome wardrobe, De Vlierbeck himself entered the apartment and mingled with the bidders. His appearance caused a general movement in the crowd; heads went together and men began to whisper, while the bankrupt was stared at with insolent curiosity or with pity, but by the greater part with indifference or derision. Yet, whatever malicious feeling existed in the assembly, it did not last long; for the firm demeanor and imposing countenance of De Vlierbeck was never on any occasion more instinct with that dignity which inspires respect. He was poor; fortune had struck him a cruel blow; but in his manly look and calm features there beamed a brave and independent soul which misfortune itself had been unable to crush.
The auctioneer went on with the sale, assisted in his description of the various articles by Monsieur De Vlierbeck, who informed the bidders of their origin, antiquity, and value. Occasionally some gentleman of the neighborhood, who, in better days, had been on good terms with Lenora's father, approached him with words of sympathy; but he always managed to escape adroitly from these indiscreet attempts at consolation. Whenever it was necessary for him to speak, he showed so much self-command and composure that he was far above the idle compassion of that careless crowd; yet if his countenance was calm and dignified, his heart was weighed down by absorbing grief. All that had belonged to his ancestors—articles that were emblazoned with the arms of his family and had been religiously preserved as heirlooms for several centuries—were sold at contemptible rates and passed into the hands of brokers. As each historical relic was placed on the table or held up by the auctioneer, the links of his illustrious race seemed to break off and depart. When the sale was nearly over, the portraits of the eminent men who had borne the name of De Vlierbeck were taken down from the walls and placed upon the stand. The first—that of the hero of St. Quentin—was knocked off to a dealer for little more than three francs! In the sale of this portrait, and the laughable price it brought, there was so much bitter irony that, for the first time, the agony that had been so long torturing De Vlierbeck's heart began to exhibit its traces in his countenance. No sooner had the hammer fallen, than, with downcast eyes and a sigh that was inaudible even to his nearest neighbor, the stricken nobleman turned from the crowd and left the saloon, so as not to witness the final sacrifice of the remaining memorials that bound him to his race.
The sun was but an hour or two above the horizon. A deathlike silence had taken the place of the noise, bustle, and vulgarity that ruled at Grinselhof during the morning; the solitary garden-walks were deserted, the house-door and gate were closed, and a stranger might have supposed that nothing had occurred to disturb the usual quiet of the spot. Suddenly the door of the dwelling opened, and two persons appeared upon the sill; one, a man advanced in life, the other, a pale and serious woman. Each carried a small package and seemed ready for travel. Lenora was dressed in a simple dark gown and bonnet, her neck covered by a small square handkerchief. De Vlierbeck was buttoned up to the chin in a coarse black greatcoat, and wore a threadbare cap whose large visor nearly masked his features. Although it was evident that the homeless travellers had literally stripped themselves of all superfluities and had determined to go forth with the merest necessaries of decency, there was something in the manner in which they wore their humble costumes that distinctly marked their birth and breeding. The old man's features were not changed; but it was difficult to say whether they expressed pleasure, pain, or indifference. Lenora seemed strong and resolute, although she was about to quit the place of her birth and separate herself, perhaps forever, from all she had loved from infancy,—from those aged groves beneath whose shadows the dawn of love first broke upon her heart,—from that remembered tree at whose feet the timid avowal of Gustave's passion had fallen on her ear. But a sense of duty possessed and ruled her heart. Reason in her was not overmastered by sensibility; and, when she saw her father tottering at her side, all her energy was rallied in the effort to sustain him.
They did not linger at the door, but, crossing the garden rapidly, directed their steps toward the farm-house, which they entered to bid its occupants farewell. Bess and her servant-maid were in the first apartment below.
"Mother Bess," said Monsieur De Vlierbeck, calmly, "we have come to bid you good-by."
Bess stared a moment anxiously at the travellers, and, lifting her apron to her eyes, left the apartment; while the servant-maid leaned her head against the window-frame and began to sob as if her heart would break. In a short time Bess returned with her husband, whom she had found in the barn.
"Alas! is it true, sir," said the farmer, in a stifled voice,—"is it true that you are going to leave Grinselhof, and that, perhaps, we shall never see you again?"