“I intend to go somewhere at random. I have heard mother speak of Chartres, Saumer, Domfront. I shall choose one of those towns, the quietest ... no matter where ... as long as I can weep undisturbed.”
“Poor child!” murmured Maître Dufornéril.
II
THE SOLITARY
“Of the fortress built, in 1011, by Guillaume de Bellême, on the summit of the rock at Domfront, at 300 feet above the little River Varenne, all that is now left standing is two great strips of wall, flanked by picturesque buttresses and pierced with wide arches, the remains of the ancient keep. Round about are a few traces of ramparts and remnants of underground passages, all arranged in the form of a square and in a perfect state of preservation.”
The guide-books, however, for some reason, fail to mention the manor-house built, in the seventeenth century, by Pierre de Donnadieu, Governor of Anjou, on the site and with the materials of the outbuildings of the old fortress. The logis, as this sort of dwelling is called in Lower Normandy, is intact and wholly charming. Four slender, tapering turrets grace the corners. An enormous roof, decked with two monumental chimneys, seems to top it with a fool’s cap, too large for its little granite forehead lined with two rows of bricks. The entrance is through the square, but the main front overlooks the precipice and a garden staggers down the steep slope to the river that winds through the pretty Valdes Rochers.
Fourteen years earlier, M. and Mme. de la Vaudraye, one of the leading families of the neighborhood, had ruined themselves in unfortunate speculations. M. de la Vaudraye died of grief and shame. His widow, in order to pay for the education of her ten-year-old son, let the manor-house, which formed part of her dowry and which had been in the possession of her family for nearly two hundred years. It was taken, for a time, by one of the garrison officers, but was now once more untenanted.
Here Gilberte sought refuge like a poor wounded animal. The very sleepiness of Domfront had attracted her, its look as of some vanquished city, wearied of a valorous past and taking its just and honourable repose. Strolling through the ruins, she saw, on the door of the Logis, a notice, “To Let.” She went in search of the owner.
Mme. de la Vaudraye, a tall, thin, hard-eyed woman, expressed herself in affected sentences of which her lips formed the syllables carefully, one by one, as though they were things of price that must be carried to the highest pitch of perfection.
“I can see from your attitude, madame,” she said, “that you have been struck by the unimpeachable condition of my house. Woodwork, mirrors, curtains, furniture: everything is in perfect repair. And yet the Logis is one of the most historic abodes in the district.” ...
Gilberte was no longer listening. She had been called, “Madame.” It had seemed natural then to address her like that? If so, could she pass as married, in spite of her age? The thought surprised her. And yet, she reflected, how could any one suppose that a young girl would come by herself to treat for the manor-house and live in it by herself?