The lady on his arm was at least forty years old. She had evidently been comely in the past, but she made the mistake of trying to appear only twenty; for, despite her mincing manners, her infantile speech, the curls behind her ear, and those that peeped out from beneath her hat, and a manner which she strove to render giddy and kittenish, one could readily see that she had passed her majority.
Dubourg walked toward the château, apparently without noticing the strangers further than to bow to them; he made a pretence of continuing his conversation with Ménard, speaking so loudly that he could be heard at some distance.
"This château reminds me of my grandfather's in the neighborhood of Sandomir. You know, my dear Ménard, the one where we endured such a long and bloody siege?"
Ménard opened his eyes as he met Dubourg's, but he instantly replied:
"Yes, monsieur le baron, I know."
"That tower yonder," continued Dubourg, "is very like the one on the western side of my castle of Krapach. I can imagine that I am still in the room where the Prince of Bulgaria slept, when he came to break bread with my father. Ah! my dear Ménard, I hope soon to give you some of that famous tokay I have told you of."
"Tekely's tokay, monsieur le baron?"
"The same; it has been a hundred and twenty-four years in bottle!"
The gentleman and lady heard every word spoken by Dubourg, who kept on toward the château, pretending to examine it, but taking care not to go too far away from them.
While Dubourg was speaking, the gentleman listened intently; his face soon assumed an expression of respectful consideration; he nudged his wife,—for his companion was his wife,—and, pointing to Dubourg, motioned to her to walk a little faster to overtake the illustrious foreigner.