Early in the afternoon, Gabriel pointed to a long point stretching out into the river.
“That is the Beacon Point of Beaulieu, madame. A beacon is piled there, ready for firing, winter and summer. The entrance to the river is just on this side, and on the other is the great bay where the porpoise fishery takes place. The manor cannot be seen from the river; it is safe and snug from the storms, a little inland.”
Before long we entered the mouth of the little river, to the right of which stretched a broad expanse of tidal meadow, dotted with small platforms, each supporting its load of coarse salt hay, safe above the reach of the highest tides; to the left was the dense pine wood covering the Beacon Point. Fields and woods wore the sombre colours, the browns and purples of autumn, though here and there a sturdy maple still hung out its banner of yellow or red, lighting up the dark greens of the unchanging pines. As we advanced, the windings of the river disclosed stretches of bare meadow and empty fields, for the harvest had long been gathered. The whole was set in a background of low, purple hills. But soon we caught a new interest, as a windmill, and then a long wooden house, having a high-pitched roof, broken by a row of pointed dormer-windows, with a detached tower at each end, came into view.
“There, madame, that is the manor!” Gabriel announced with evident pride, to which I made suitable return, for despite its humble form, like a substantial farm-house, its great length and the two towers gave to it an appearance which removed it out of the common.
Our boat was made fast to a little landing-place, and we disembarked; but, to my surprise, no one appeared to welcome or to question us. Gabriel led the way up to the house through a garden, which must have been a model of neatness in summer-time, but was now stripped and blackened by the early frosts. Though the door of the house stood hospitably open to us, no answer came to our echoing knock.
Going round to the back proved equally fruitless, but I espied two women working in a field at a short distance, and, bidding Gabriel await me, I took my way towards them. I found them engaged with spade and fork digging up reddish-looking roots, which they piled in little heaps.
“I bring letters to Mme. de Sarennes,” I said, addressing the younger woman, who seemed confused, but whose face I could barely see for the great bonnet which covered her head like a cowl, “but I find no one in the house. Can you tell me what to do?”
“If madame will return and find a seat in the house, I shall bring some one,” she answered, prettily enough, and, dropping her fork, she ran towards the house.
“What are those things you are digging up?” I asked the elder woman.
“Potatoes, madame.”