About a quarter of an hour later the three Americans were standing before a high and ornamental gateway which led into the great park belonging to the château. Only a small portion of the De Morancourt coat of arms which once adorned it remained in place, and the ancient bricks showed in many places the destructive effects of German shells.
"This must be one of those real, bona-fide, genuine châteaus we read about," commented Chase.
"Yes; according to what I have been told it dates back to the time of Louis the Fourteenth," said the art student.
"I do wonder what could have become of all those pictures and art treasures!" mused Don.
"A lot of other people have been wondering, too; and whether they will ever get beyond the wondering stage or not is problematical."
"Suppose we get into the wandering stage."
"I don't see any stage."
"At any rate, let us hope there won't be anything unlucky about this stage of our journey," put in Chase, dryly.
Entering the grounds, the three found themselves on a wide carriage road, bordered on each side with stately trees. The moonlight flooded the scene with unusual brilliancy, and some of the ancient oaks, which had escaped the destroying shells, made a grimly-impressive picture, as their boughs and branches were silhouetted against the steely bluish tones of the sky. Here and there the roadway was deeply shadowed; in other places, it gleamed with a ghostly paleness amid the surrounding gloom.
At one time the park had evidently been anything but a haven of refuge; for the same sort of havoc which existed elsewhere was to be found on all sides—fallen trees, mutilated trunks and the earth torn up by projectiles. And Chase Manning observed, with considerable uneasiness, that some of the shells must have very recently fallen.