"I don’t know where he descended from, monsieur; but he bought this château for a factory, to carry on business in; but I suppose it didn’t suit, as he offered the estate for sale again."
"But to whom did this château formerly belong?"
"Who? Wait a bit—I don’t know the name, but it was an old dowager of a very old family. The old lady, who lived in the château, wouldn’t have any repairs made, they say, for fear of spoiling it.—So you see it’s just as it used to be."
"Some old dowager, I suppose," said Alfred, "who preferred to let the building fall to pieces, rather than let a profane hand touch these crumbling walls!"
"Well, I didn’t know her," said Cunette; "I was put here by the beet-sugar man, who left me here with my friend Vincent."
"Now, let us look at the tower.—Take care, messieurs, as you go down this staircase; almost all the steps are broken. My dear Robineau—I beg pardon, I mean Monsieur de la Roche-Noire—if you follow the old dowager’s system, it will be difficult soon to take a step in your château without running the risk of breaking your neck."
"Oh! I shall have everything repaired, made over new, messieurs. I’ve no desire to have my château crumble and fall on me.—Concierge, where does this long corridor lead?"
"To the North Tower, master. Oh! wait till you see—it’s splendid! There’s trapdoors, and—what do you call ’em—places you fall into? gimblettes!"
"Oubliettes, you mean, do you not?"
"Yes, monsieur, oubliettes."