For some days the place was the scene of constant festivity. The noise of laughter was heard; there was talk and the movement of life, and roses garnished the vases. Servants carried back and forth cakes and fruits. At times, beneath the arches, there rolled an uncertain harmony,—it was Ethel trying the old piano.
What a change for Adalbert, who was used to being alone with his aged tutor. Until then his walks along the ramparts, amid the box-trees twisted by the wind, had been his chief amusement. How often he had wished to go down and untie the old boat moored at the foot of the wall, and sail out into the bay!
But the duke, with all his frequent traveling, had the child whom he adored looked after with the greatest care. It was the last of his race,—their last hope. If the child should die, to which of his powerful neighbors would the duchy fall as a prey? So the child grew up in the old castle with the portraits of his forefathers looking down at him; and his imagination awoke to the recital of ancient legends. In his dreams by night he saw gentle visions bending over him. Now, all had grown alive, and the visions were realities. There were big friends to dance him on their knees; there was a kind old fairy speaking softly to him in a foreign tongue. Two young maidens, more beautiful than those of his dreams, took him in their arms; and for playmates he had a delightful little girl who taught him games and called him Monseigneur. Ethel looked at Adalbert playing with Sœurette; the child was bright and gay, and she complimented the duke.
“It is because your visit gives him such pleasure,” said the duke,—“as much as to me, were it possible! I don’t know what he will do when you go away,—poor Adalbert! He will be very sorry.”
Ethel looked thoughtful. The duke leaned over the back of her chair, and, so as to be heard by her alone, spoke slowly:
“It will be his apprenticeship in life. Separation from what one loves most in the world—that is where everything ends; and yet, perhaps—”
Ethel did not answer, but remained with her head resting on her hand. She understood quite well what the duke wished to say. She looked aimlessly before her, thinking of all that she had seen, of all these parade-rooms and chambres d’honneur, and the gloomy stairways. The gallery, adorned with portraits and suits of heavy armor, haunted her. The donjons and courtyards, the bastions and the moat and rusty drawbridge,—she saw it all in her mind. In the old time, on festive days, what a grand air it must all have had, with the heralds’ trumpets, with banqueting and tournaments, where fair duchesses crowned those who vanquished! Or, again, at the home-coming from the wars, when the Lady Knight of Malta, Queen of Antioch, saluted with her sword the torn banners! What a magnificent opportunity there would be to bring this all back to sight, if she should make Morgania live again with her millions! The castle could be made the most princely abode in Europe. But she wished to know more of Duke Conrad. She wished to judge of him without being dazzled by his titles. She was not to marry ancestors, but a husband whom she might love!
Visiting the Castle