Oscar, somewhat abashed, was skulking behind a clump of trees in the centre of the court-yard, and watching to see what became of his two road-companions, when Monsieur Moreau suddenly came out upon the portico from what was called the guard-room.  He was dressed in a long blue overcoat which came to his heels, breeches of yellowish leather and top-boots, and in his hand he carried a riding-whip.

“Ah! my boy, so here you are?  How is the dear mamma?” he said, taking Oscar by the hand.  “Good-day, messieurs,” he added to Mistigris and his master, who then came forward.  “You are, no doubt, the two painters whom Monsieur Grindot, the architect, told me to expect.”

He whistled twice at the end of his whip; the concierge came.

“Take these gentlemen to rooms 14 and 15.  Madame Moreau will give you the keys.  Go with them to show the way; make fires there, if necessary, and take up all their things.  I have orders from Monsieur le comte,” he added, addressing the two young men, “to invite you to my table, messieurs; we dine at five, as in Paris.  If you like hunting, you will find plenty to amuse you; I have a license from the Eaux et Forets; and we hunt over twelve thousand acres of forest, not counting our own domain.”

Oscar, the painter, and Mistigris, all more or less subdued, exchanged glances, but Mistigris, faithful to himself, remarked in a low tone, “‘Veni, vidi, cecidi,—­I came, I saw, I slaughtered.’”

Oscar followed the steward, who led him along at a rapid pace through the park.

“Jacques,” said Moreau to one of his children whom they met, “run in and tell your mother that little Husson has come, and say to her that I am obliged to go to Les Moulineaux for a moment.”

The steward, then about fifty years old, was a dark man of medium height, and seemed stern.  His bilious complexion, to which country habits had added a certain violent coloring, conveyed, at first sight, the impression of a nature which was other than his own.  His blue eyes and a large crow-beaked nose gave him an air that was the more threatening because his eyes were placed too close together.  But his large lips, the outline of his face, and the easy good-humor of his manner soon showed that his nature was a kindly one.  Abrupt in speech and decided in tone, he impressed Oscar immensely by the force of his penetration, inspired, no doubt, by the affection which he felt for the boy.  Trained by his mother to magnify the steward, Oscar had always felt himself very small in Moreau’s presence; but on reaching Presles a new sensation came over him, as if he expected some harm from this fatherly figure, his only protector.

“Well, my Oscar, you don’t look pleased at getting here,” said the steward.  “And yet you’ll find plenty of amusement; you shall learn to ride on horseback, and shoot, and hunt.”

“I don’t know any of those things,” said Oscar, stupidly.

“But I brought you here to learn them.”