“It is beautiful,” replied Péron; “is it the king’s house?”
Jacques laughed. “Nay,” he said, “did you think it like the Louvre? We are going here to fix the old jacquemart. This is the Château de Nançay.”
Before them the ground rose in a succession of terraces to the elevation on which were the buildings. A stone wall ran along the face of the lowest terrace, with great iron gates, which stood open. Above this were three other terraces, faced by low parapets, in the Italian fashion, and beautifully grassed and planted with roses. The highest formed an immense quadrangle, in the center of which stood the château and its out-buildings. It was of gray stone and of a graceful style of architecture, a mantle of ivy climbing over its turrets and arching the long row of windows which commanded the terraces. Behind it were the stables and the house of the steward of the estate. The whole place was in perfect order and beautifully situated on the spur of the hill, overlooking the river and sheltered by a small forest in the rear. On the central turret of the château was one of the old jacquemarts, and even at a distance two figures could be discerned, one on either side of the dial, which, on nearer inspection, proved to be two knights in complete armor, who struck the hours with their bronze maces on a great silver bell above the face of the clock. It was a very old clock, one of the first made in imitation of the famous jacquemart of Dijon, and this central turret of Nançay had borne for years the name of “Tour de l’Horloge.”
To Péron, this house was more beautiful than the Louvre or the Palais des Tournelles in the old Marais, because of the open country about it. To the child, bred in Paris, the green field and waving trees, the slope of the hill-tops, the blooming flower garden, was a setting of perfect beauty. He followed the clockmaker up the successive steps of the terraces, too obedient to lag behind, but gazing about in pleased wonder. He saw the great velvet faces of the pansies, the clustering roses, the more modest violets; he noticed everything that escaped the eye of Jacques des Horloges; and he followed, in the same silent mood, into the great house itself. They did not approach the stately main entrance, but were admitted by a porter at a side door. The clockmaker was expected, and being an old visitor was permitted to set about his work undisturbed. It was his business to wind and clean and lubricate the machinery of every clock in the château, from the jacquemart to the cook’s timepiece, and there were many. Jacques was a man who performed all tasks expeditiously and quietly, and he commenced his rounds at once, only bidding Péron keep near him. He entertained no fear of the child getting into mischief; in that respect he was too unchildlike, and often perplexed the good clockmaker.
There was no occasion to fear that Péron would offend for lack of interest in what he saw; the boy was amazed and delighted at the beauty and richness of the château’s interior. The floor of the great hall was tessellated, paved with Italian marble, and the balustrade of the main staircase was elaborately carved. While the clockmaker was busily engaged with the old timepiece in the hall, Péron went about softly, peeping in first at one door and then at another, each in turn, giving him such a bewildering vista of beauty and luxury, that the child fancied himself in fairyland. No one seemed to be stirring in this part of the house; indeed the marquis was away from home, and the little explorer, meeting no one, grew bolder and ventured into the dining-room to look at the display of silver and gold on the immense carved sideboard. Here were not only dishes and goblets, but also fanciful vases and figures of the precious metals; there were also several beautiful examples of ceramic art, the work of Maître Bernard des Thuilleries and of his predecessor, Robbia; and the abace and crédence, nearer the table, were covered respectively with rare glass and plates and dishes. The room was very long, and at the end was a mirror in a gold frame of such curious design,—ropes of flowers tied with broad ribbons and held above and below the glass by golden cupids,—that Péron stood a long while examining it, not noticing his own figure reflected therein. A strange contrast he presented to his rich surroundings, the clockmaker’s boy, in plain, dark clothes and coarse boots, but handsome and full of health, and large for his years.
Beyond the mirror was a door draped with pale blue hangings, and Péron, grown bold, lifted the silken curtains and stepped into a smaller room, softly carpeted and richly furnished. But here he was destined to meet with a surprise. He had advanced quite a way before he became suddenly aware that he was not alone. At the other end of the apartment stood a child, a little girl, of about Péron’s own age or less, and she was gazing at him in the most profound amazement. She had seen the intruder before he was aware of her presence, and was searching him with a glance that was not only full of astonishment but of disdain, as she observed every detail of his shabby appearance.
At the sight of her Péron halted too and stood returning her gaze,—but with very different feelings. To him she seemed the most beautiful child that he had ever seen. At the first glance he thought her a fairy. She was small and slight, with the fair, rosy loveliness of childhood, her great black eyes, fringed with long black lashes and set off with delicately pencilled black brows, while, in direct contrast, her hair was like spun gold and extremely fine and glossy. This little vision was arrayed in pure white, with ruffles of fine lace and little white silk shoes. It was not marvellous that the clockmaker’s child should gaze in amazement at this small beauty who, in his eyes, rivalled the fairest belle of the Marais.
CHAPTER VI
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
THE two children, thus suddenly confronted, stood regarding each other for some moments in silence. Then the little girl drew back with a gesture which was wonderfully full of hauteur for one so young.
“Who are you?” she demanded arrogantly. “Where did you come from, boy?”