Desnoyers thought of the relatives in Berlin.  Why should he not have his castle like the others? . . .  The bargains were alluring.  Historic mansions by the dozen were offered him.  Their owners, exhausted by the expense of maintaining them, were more than anxious to sell.  So he bought the castle of Villeblanche-sur-Marne, built in the time of the religious wars—­a mixture of palace and fortress with an Italian Renaissance facade, gloomy towers with pointed hoods, and moats in which swans were swimming.

He could now live with some tracts of land over which to exercise his authority, struggling again with the resistance of men and things.  Besides, the vast proportions of the rooms of the castle were very tempting and bare of furniture.  This opportunity for placing the overflow from his cellars plunged him again into buying.  With this atmosphere of lordly gloom, the antiques would harmonize beautifully, without that cry of protest which they always seemed to make when placed in contact with the glaring white walls of modern habitations.  The historic residence required an endless outlay; on that account it had changed owners so many times.

But he and the land understood each other beautifully. . . .  So at the same time that he was filling the salons, he was going to begin farming and stock-raising in the extensive parks—­a reproduction in miniature of his enterprises in South America.  The property ought to be made self-supporting.  Not that he had any fear of the expenses, but he did not intend to lose money on the proposition.

The acquisition of the castle brought Desnoyers a true friendship—­the chief advantage in the transaction.  He became acquainted with a neighbor, Senator Lacour, who twice had been Minister of State, and was now vegetating in the senate, silent during its sessions, but restless and voluble in the corridors in order to maintain his influence.  He was a prominent figure of the republican nobility, an aristocrat of the new regime that had sprung from the agitations of the Revolution, just as the titled nobility had won their spurs in the Crusades.  His great-grandfather had belonged to the Convention.  His father had figured in the Republic of 1848.  He, as the son of an exile who had died in banishment, had when very young marched behind the grandiloquent figure of Gambetta, and always spoke in glowing terms of the Master, in the hope that some of his rays might be reflected on his disciple.  His son Rene, a pupil of the Ecole Centrale regarded his father as “a rare old sport,” laughing a little at his romantic and humanitarian republicanism.  He, nevertheless, was counting much on that same official protection treasured by four generations of Lacours dedicated to the service of the Republic, to assist him when he became an engineer.

Don Marcelo who used to look uneasily upon any new friendship, fearing a demand for a loan, gave himself up with enthusiasm to intimacy with this “grand man.”  The personage admired riches and recognized, besides, a certain genius in this millionaire from the other side of the sea accustomed to speaking of limitless pastures and immense herds.  Their intercourse was more than the mere friendliness of a country neighborhood, and continued on after their return to Paris.  Finally Rene visited the home on the avenida Victor Hugo as though it were his own.