As they passed the lower balustrade Camors bowed low, and they returned his salutation by a slight inclination; but he was quite sure, in spite of the veils that floated from their riding-hats, that he recognized the black-eyed singer and the young pianist.  After a moment he called to his old steward,

“Monsieur Leonard,” he said, “is this a public way?”

“It certainly is not a public way, Monsieur le Comte,” replied Leonard.

“Then what do these ladies mean by using this road?”

“Bless me, Monsieur le Comte, it is so long since any of the owners have been at Reuilly!  These ladies mean no harm by passing through your woods; and sometimes they even stop at the chateau while my wife gives them fresh milk.  Shall I tell them that this displeases Monsieur le Comte?”

“My good Leonard, why the deuce do you suppose it displeases me?  I only asked for information.  And now who are the ladies?”

“Oh!  Monsieur, they are quite respectable ladies; Madame de Tecle, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Marie.”

“So?  And the husband of Madame, Monsieur de Tecle, never rides out with them?”

“Heavens! no, Monsieur.  He never rides with them.”  And the old steward smiled a dry smile.  “He has been among the dead men for a long time, as Monsieur le Comte well knows.”

“Granting that I know it, Monsieur Leonard, I wish it understood these ladies are not to be interfered with.  You comprehend?”

Leonard seemed pleased that he was not to be the bearer of any disagreeable message; and Camors, suddenly conceiving that his stay at Reuilly might be prolonged for some time, reentered the chateau and examined the different rooms, arranging with the steward the best plan of making the house habitable.  The little town of I------, but two leagues distant, afforded all the means, and M. Leonard proposed going there at once to confer with the architect.

CHAPTER VII

ELISE DE TECLE

Meantime Camors directed his steps toward the residence of M. des Rameures, of which he at last obtained correct information.  He took the same road as the preceding evening, passed the monastic-looking building that held Madame de Tecle, glanced at the old oak that had served him for an observatory, and about a mile farther on he discovered the small house with towers that he sought.

It could only be compared to those imaginary edifices of which we have all read in childhood’s happy days in taking text, under an attractive picture:  “The castle of M. de Valmont was agreeably situated at the summit of a pretty hill.”  It had a really picturesque surrounding of fields sloping away, green as emerald, dotted here and there with great bouquets of trees, or cut by walks adorned with huge roses or white bridges thrown over rivulets.  Cattle and sheep were resting here and there, which might have figured at the Opera Comique, so shining were the skins of the cows and so white the wool of the sheep.  Camors swung open the gate, took the first road he saw, and reached the top of the hill amid trees and flowers.  An old servant slept on a bench before the door, smiling in his dreams.