I left my heavy luggage there, and went towards the château, carrying a valise in one hand, while I used the other to cut off the heads of the marguerites with my cane. After walking a little distance between rows of large chestnuts I came to a spacious circular garden, emerging into a park a little farther on. Right and left I saw deep vistas opening out between groves already verdant, water flowing under trees, and little white boats laid up in rustic boat-houses.
Facing me was the château, an imposing building in the elegant half-Italian style of the early years of Louis XIII. At the foot of the double perron, and under the lofty windows of the façade stretched a long terrace, which formed a kind of private garden, approached by several broad, low steps. The gay and sumptuous aspect of this place caused me a real disappointment, which was not lessened when, as I drew nearer to the terrace, I heard the noise of young and laughing voices rising above the distant tinkle of a piano. Plainly I had come to an abode of pleasure very different from the old and gloomy donjon of my imaginings. However, the time for reflection had passed. I went quickly up the steps, and suddenly found myself in the midst of a scene, which in any other circumstances I should have thought extremely pretty.
On one of the lawns of the flower-garden half a dozen young girls, linked in couples and laughing at themselves, whirled in a flood of sunshine, while a piano, touched by a skilful hand, sent the rhythms of a riotous waltz through an open window.
But I had scarcely had time to note the animated faces of the dancers, their loosened hair, and large hats flapping on their shoulders. My sudden appearance had been received with a cry of general alarm, succeeded by profound silence. The dancing ceased, and all the band awaited the advance of the stranger in array of battle. But the stranger had come to a halt with signs of evident embarrassment. Though for some time past I had scarcely troubled my head about my social claims, I must confess that at this moment I should gladly have got rid of my hand-bag. But I had to make the best of the situation. As I advanced, hat in hand, towards the double staircase leading to the vestibule of the château the piano ceased abruptly. A large Newfoundland first presented himself at the window, putting his lion-like head on the cross-bar between his two hairy paws; immediately after there appeared a tall young girl, whose somewhat sunburnt face and serious expression were framed in a mass of black and lustrous hair. Her eyes, which I thought extraordinarily large, examined the scene outside with nonchalant curiosity.
"Well, what is the matter?" she asked in a quiet tone.
I made her a low bow, and once more cursing the bag which evidently amused the young ladies, I crossed the perron hastily, and entered the house.
In the hall a gray-haired servant, dressed in black, took my name. A few minutes later I was shown into a large drawing-room hung with yellow silk. There I at once recognised the young lady I had just seen at the window. She was beyond question remarkably beautiful. By the fire-place, where a regular furnace was blazing, a lady of middle age and of marked Creole type of feature, sat buried in a large arm-chair among a mass of eider-down pillows and cushions of all sizes. Within her reach stood an antique tripod surmounted by a brasero, to which she frequently held her pale and delicate hands. Near Mme. Laroque sat a lady knitting, whom I recognised at once by her morose and disagreeable expression as the second cousin, the widow of the stock-broker who died in Belgium. Mme. Laroque looked at me as if she were more than surprised, as if she were astounded. She asked my name again.
"I beg your pardon ... Monsieur...?"
"Odiot, madame."
"Maxime Odiot—the manager, the steward—that M. Laubépin...?"