They saw before them the tall chimney-stacks and the high roofs and the white walls of the Château, looking spectral enough in the wan moonlight,—ghostly, silent, and ominous. One light only was visible in the porter's lodge; all else was dark, cold, and sepulchral.
The watchful old porter at the gate was instantly on foot to see who came at that hour, and was surprised enough at sight of his master and the Sieur Cadet, without retinue or even a groom to accompany them.
They dismounted and tied their horses outside the gate. “Run to the Château, Marcele, without making the least noise,” said Bigot. “Call none of the servants, but rap gently at the door of Dame Tremblay. Bid her rise instantly, without waking any one. Say the Intendant desires to see her. I expect guests from the city.”
The porter returned with the information that Dame Tremblay had got up and was ready to receive his Excellency.
Bidding old Marcele take care of the horses, they walked across the lawn to the Château, at the door of which stood Dame Tremblay, hastily dressed, courtesying and trembling at this sudden summons to receive the Intendant and Sieur Cadet.
“Good night, dame!” said Bigot, in a low tone, “conduct us instantly to the grand gallery.”
“Oh, your Excellency!” replied the dame, courtesying, “I am your humble servant at all times, day and night, as it is my duty and my pleasure to serve my master!”
“Well, then!” returned Bigot, impatiently, “let us go in and make no noise.”
The three, Dame Tremblay leading the way with a candle in each hand, passed up the broad stair and into the gallery communicating with the apartments of Caroline. The dame set her candles on the table and stood with her hands across her apron in a submissive attitude, waiting the orders of her master.
“Dame!” said he, “I think you are a faithful servant. I have trusted you with much. Can I trust you with a greater matter still?”