CHAPTER XIX. NETTLES AND COBWEBS
The worthy tyrant's advice was sensible and good, and de Sigognacresolved to follow it without delay. Since Isabelle's departure, noattraction existed for him in the troupe, and he was very glad of avalid pretext for quitting it; though he could not leave his humblefriends without some regrets. It was necessary that he should disappearfor a while--plunge into obscurity, until the excitement consequent uponthe violent death of the young Duke of Vallombreuse should be forgottenin some new tragedy in real life.
So, after bidding farewell to the worthy comedians, who had shown himso much kindness, he departed from the gay capital--mounted on a stoutpony, and with a tolerably well-filled purse--his share of the receiptsof the troupe, which he had fairly earned. By easy stages he travelledslowly towards his own ruined chateau. After the storm the bird flieshome to its nest, no matter how ragged and torn it may be. It was theonly refuge open to him, and in the midst of his despondency he felta sort of sad pleasure at the thought of returning to his ancestralhome--desolate and forlorn as it was--where it would have been better,perhaps, for him to have quietly remained--for his fortunes were notimproved, and this last crowning disaster had been ruinous to all hishopes and prospects of happiness.
"Ah, well!" said he to himself, sorrowfully, as he jogged slowly on,"it was predestined that I should die of hunger and ennui within thosecrumbling walls, and under my poor, dilapidated, old roof, that lets therain run through it like a huge sieve. No one can escape his destiny,and I shall accomplish mine. I am doomed to be the last de Sigognac."
Then came visions of what might have been, that made the sad presentseem even darker by contrast; and his burden was well-nigh too heavyfor him to bear, when he remembered all Isabelle's goodness andloveliness--now lost to him forever. No wonder that his eyes were oftenwet with tears, and that there was no brightness even in the sunshinefor him.
It is needless to describe in detail a journey that lasted twenty days,and was not marked by any remarkable incidents or adventures. It isenough to say that one fine evening de Sigognac saw from afar the loftytowers of his ancient chateau, illuminated by the setting sun, andshining out in bold relief against the soft purple of the evening sky;whilst one of the few remaining casements had caught the fiery sunsetglow, and looked like a great carbuncle set in the fine facade ofthe stately old castle. This sight aroused a strange tenderness andagitation in the young baron's breast. It was true that he had sufferedlong and acutely in that dreary mansion, yet after all it was verydear to him--far more than he knew before he had quitted it--and he wasdeeply moved at seeing it again. In a few moments more the glorious godof day had sunk behind the western horizon, and the chateau seemedto retreat, until it became scarcely perceptible as the light faded,forming only a vague, gray blot in the distance as the gloamingsucceeded to the glow. But de Sigognac knew every step of the wayperfectly, and soon turned from the highway into the neglected,grass-grown road that led to the chateau. In the profound stillness,which seemed wonderfully peaceful and pleasant to him, he fancied thathe could distinguish the distant barking of a dog, and that it soundedlike Miraut. He stopped to listen; yes, there could be no doubt aboutit, and it was approaching. The baron gave a clear, melodious whistle--asignal well known of old to Miraut-and in a few moments the faithfuldog, running as fast as his poor old legs could carry him, burst througha break in the hedge--panting, barking, almost sobbing for joy. Hestrove to jump up on the horse's neck to get at his beloved master; hewas beside himself with delight, and manifested it in the most franticmanner, whilst de Sigognac bent down to pat his head and try to quiethis wild transports. After bearing his master company a little way,Miraut set off again at full speed, to announce the good news tothe others at the chateau--that is to say, to Pierre, Bayard, andBeelzebub--and bounding into the kitchen where the old servant wassitting, lost in sad thoughts, he barked in such a significant way thatPierre knew at once that something unusual had happened.
"Can it be possible that the young master is coming? said he aloud,rising, in compliance with Miraut's wishes, who was pulling at theskirts of his coat, and imploring him with his eyes to bestir himselfand follow him. As it was quite dark by this time, Pierre lighted a pinetorch, which he carried with him, and as he turned into the road itsruddy light suddenly flashed upon de Sigognac and his horse.
"Is it really you, my lord?" cried Pierre, joyfully, as he caught sightof his young master; "Miraut had tried to tell me of your arrival in hisown way before I left the house, but as I had not heard anything aboutyour even thinking of coming, I feared that he might be mistaken.Welcome home to your own domain, my beloved master! We are overjoyed tosee you."
"Yes, my good Pierre, it is really I, and not my wraith. Miraut was notmistaken. Here I am again, if not richer than when I went away, at leastall safe and sound. Come now, lead the way with your torch, and we willgo into the chateau."
Pierre, not without considerable difficulty, opened the great door,and the Baron de Sigognac rode slowly through the ancient portico,fantastically illuminated by the flaring torchlight, in which the threesculptured storks overhead seemed to be flapping their wings, as ifin joyful salutation to the last representative of the family they hadsymbolized for so many centuries. Then a loud, impatient whinny, likethe blast of a trumpet, was heard ringing out on the still night air, asBayard, in his stable, caught the welcome sound of his master's voice.
"Yes, yes, I hear you, my poor old Bayard," cried de Sigognac, as hedismounted in the court, and threw the bridle to Pierre; "I am coming tosay how d'you do," and as he turned he stumbled over Beelzebub, whowas trying to rub himself against his master's legs, purring and mewingalternately to attract his attention. The baron stooped down, took theold black cat up in his arms, and tenderly caressed him as he advancedtowards the stables; then put him down gently as he reached Bayard'sstall, and another touching scene of affectionate greeting was enacted.The poor old pony laid his head lovingly on his master's shoulder, andactually tried to kick up his hind legs in a frisky way in honour of thegreat event; also, he received the horse that de Sigognac had ridden allthe way from Paris, and which was put in the stall beside his own,very politely, and seemed pleased to have a companion in his solitarygrandeur.
"And now that I have responded to the endearments of my dumb friends,"said the baron to Pierre, "we will go into the kitchen, and examineinto the condition of your larder. I had but a poor breakfast thismorning, and no dinner at all, being anxious to push on and reach myjourney's end before nightfall. I am as hungry as a bear, and will beglad of anything, no matter what."
"I have not much to put before you, my lord, and I fear that youwill find it but sorry fare after the delicacies you must have beenaccustomed to in Paris; but though it will not be tempting, nor oversavoury, it will at least satisfy your hunger."
"That is all that can be required of any food," answered de Sigognac,"and I am not as ungrateful as you seem to think, my good Pierre, to thefrugal fare of my youth, which has certainly made me healthy, vigorous,and strong. Bring out what you have, and serve it as proudly as if itwere of the choicest and daintiest; I will promise to do honour to it,for I am desperately hungry."
The old servant bustled about joyously, and quickly had the table readyfor his master; then stood behind his chair, while he ate and drankwith a traveller's appetite, as proudly erect as if he had been a grandmajor-domo waiting on a prince. According to the old custom, Mirautand Beelzebub, stationed on the right and on the left, watched theirmaster's every motion, and received a share of everything that was onthe table. The great kitchen was lighted, not very brilliantly, by atorch, stuck in an iron bracket just inside the broad, open chimney, sothat the smoke should escape through it and not fill the room, and thescene was so exactly a counterpart of the one described at the beginningof this narrative, that the baron, struck with the perfect resemblance,fancied that he must have been dreaming, and had never quitted hisancient chateau at all. Everything was precisely as he had left it,exce
pting that the nettles and weeds had grown a little taller, andthe cobweb draperies a little more voluminous; all else was unchanged.Unconsciously lapsing into the old ways, de Sigognac fell into a deepreverie after he had finished his simple repast, which Pierre, as ofold, respected, and even Miraut and Beelzebub did not venture to intrudeupon. All that had occurred since he last sat at his own table passed inreview before him, but seemed like adventures that he had read of, notactually participated in himself. It had all passed into the background.Captain Fracasse, already nearly obliterated, appeared like a palespectre in the far distance; his combats with the Duke of Vallombreuseseemed equally unreal. In fine, everything that he had seen, done, andsuffered, had sunk into shadowy vagueness; but his love for Isabelle hadundergone no change; it had neither diminished nor grown cold; it was aspassionate and all-absorbing as ever; it was his very life; yet ratherlike an aspiration of the soul than a real passion, since with it all heknew that the angelic being who was its object, and whom he worshippedfrom afar, could never, never be his. The wheels of his chariot, whichfor a brief space had turned aside into a new track, were back in theold rut again, and realizing that there could be no further escape fromit possible for him, he gave way sullenly to a despairing, stolid sortof resignation, that he had no heart to struggle against, but yielded toit passively; blaming himself the while for having presumed to indulgein a season of bright hopes and delicious dreams. Why the devil shouldsuch an unlucky fellow as he had always been venture to aspireto happiness? It was all foolishness, and sure to end in bitterdisappointment; but he had had his lesson now, and would be wiser forthe future.
He sat perfectly motionless for a long time, plunged in a sadreverie--sunk in a species of torpor; but he roused himself at last, andperceiving that his faithful old follower's eyes were fixed upon him,full of timid questioning that he did not venture to put into words,briefly related to him the principal incidents of his journey up to thecapital, and his short stay there. When he graphically described his twoduels with the Duke of Vallombreuse--the old man, filled with pride anddelight at the proficiency of his beloved pupil, could not restrain hisenthusiasm, and snatching up a stick gave vigorous illustrations of allthe most salient points of the encounters as the baron delineated them,ending up with a wild flourish and a shout of triumph.
"Alas! my good Pierre," said he, with a sigh, when quiet was restored,"you taught me how to use my sword only too well. My unfortunate victoryhas been my ruin, and has sent me back, hopeless and bereaved, to thispoor old crumbling chateau of mine, where I am doomed to drag outthe weary remainder of my days in sorrow and misery. I am peculiarlyunhappy, in that my very triumphs have only made matters worse forme--it would have been better far for me, and for all, if I had beenwounded, or even killed, in this last disastrous encounter, instead ofmy rival and enemy, the young Duke of Vallombreuse."
"The de Sigognacs are never beaten," said the old retainer loftily. "Nomatter what may come of it, I am glad, my dear young master, that youkilled that insolent duke. The whole thing was conducted in strictaccordance with the code of honour--what more could be desired? Howcould any valiant gentleman object to die gloriously, sword in hand,of a good, honest wound, fairly given? He should consider himself mostfortunate."
"Ah well! perhaps you are right--I will not dispute you," said deSigognac, smiling secretly at the old man's philosophy. "But I am verytired, and would like to go to my own room now--will you light the lamp,my good Pierre, and lead the way?"
Pierre obeyed, and the baron, preceded by his old servant and followedby his old dog and cat, slowly ascended the ancient staircase. Thequaint frescoes were gradually fading, growing ever paler and moreindistinct, and there were new stains on the dull blue sky of thevaulted ceiling, where the rain and melting snow of winter storms hadfiltered through from the dilapidated roof. The ruinous condition ofeverything in and about the crumbling old chateau, to which de Sigognachad been perfectly accustomed before he quitted it, and taken as amatter of course, now struck him forcibly, and increased his dejection.He saw in it the sad and inevitable decadence of his race, and saidto himself, "If these ancient walls had any pity for the last forlornremnant of the family they have sheltered for centuries, they would fallin and bury me in their ruins."
When he reached the landing at the head of the stairs he took the lampfrom Pierre's hand, bade him good-night and dismissed him--not willingthat even his faithful old servant, who had cared for him ever since hisbirth, should witness his overpowering emotion. He walked slowly throughthe great banqueting hall, where the comedians had supped on thatmemorable night, and the remembrance of that gay scene rendered thepresent dreary solitude and silence more terrible than they had everseemed to him before. The death-like stillness was only broken bythe horrid gnawing of a rat somewhere in the wall, and the old familyportraits glared down at him reproachfully, as he passed on below themwith listless step and downcast eyes, oblivious of everything but hisown deep misery, and his yearning for his lost Isabelle. As he cameunder the last portrait of all, that of his own sweet young mother,he suddenly looked up, and as his eyes rested on the calm, beautifulcountenance--which had always worn such a pathetic, mournful expressionthat it used to make his heart ache to look at it in his boyish days--itseemed to smile upon him. He was startled for an instant, and then,thrilling with a strange, exquisite delight, and inspired with new hopeand courage, he said in a low, earnest tone, "I accept my dear deadmother's smile as a good omen--perhaps all may not be lost even yet--Iwill try to believe so."
After a moment of silent thought, he went on into his own chamber, andput down the small lamp he carried, upon the little table, where stilllay the stray volume of Ronsard's poems that he had been reading--orrather trying to read--on that tempestuous night when the old pedantknocked at his door. And there was his bed, where Isabelle hadslept--the very pillow upon which her dear head had rested. He trembledas he stood and gazed at it, and saw, as in a vision, the perfect formlying there again in his place, and the sweetest face in all the worldturned towards him, with a tender smile parting the ripe red lips, arosy flush mantling in the delicate cheeks, and warm lovelightshining in the deep blue eyes. He stood spell-bound--afraid to moveor breathe--and worshipped the beautiful vision with all his souland strength, as if it had been indeed divine--but alas! it faded assuddenly as it had appeared, and he felt as if the doors of heaven hadbeen shut upon him. He hastily undressed, and threw himself down inthe place where Isabelle had actually reposed; passionately kissed thepillow that had been hallowed by the touch of her head, and bedewed itwith his tears. He lay long awake, thinking of the angelic being wholoved him and whom he adored, whilst Beelzebub, rolled up in a ball,slept at his feet, and snored like the traditional cat of Mahomet, thatlay and slumbered upon the prophet's sleeve.
When morning came, de Sigognac was more impressed than ever with thedilapidated, crumbling condition of his ancient mansion. Daylight hasno mercy upon old age and ruins; it reveals with cruel distinctness thewrinkles, gray hairs, poverty, misery, stains, fissures, dust and mouldin which they abound; but more kindly night softens or conceals alldefects, with its friendly shade, spreading over them its mantle ofdarkness. The rooms that used to seem so vast to their youthful ownerhad shrunken, and looked almost small and insignificant to him now, tohis extreme surprise and mortification; but he soon regained the feelingof being really at home, and resumed his former way of life completely;just as one goes back to an old garment, that has for a time been laidaside, and replaced by a new one. His days were spent thus: early in themorning he went to say a short prayer in the half-ruined chapel wherehis ancestors lay, ere he repaired to the kitchen where his simplebreakfast awaited him; that disposed of, he and old Pierre fetched theirswords, and fought their friendly duels; after which he mounted Bayard,or the pony he had brought home with him, and went off for long,solitary rides over the desolate Landes. Returning late in the afternoonhe sat, sad and silent as of old, until his frugal supper was prepared,partook of it, also in silenc
e, and then retired to his lonely chamber,where he tried to read some musty old volume which he knew by heartalready, or else flung himself on his bed--never without kissing thesacred pillow that had supported Isabelle's beloved head--and lay therea prey to mournful and bitter meditations, until at last he could forgethis troubles and grief in sleep. There was not a vestige left of thebrilliant Captain Fracasse, nor of the high-spirited rival of thehaughty Duke of Vallombreuse; the unfortunate young Baron de Sigognachad relapsed entirely into the sad-eyed, dejected master of CastleMisery.
One morning he sauntered listlessly down into the garden, which waswilder and more overgrown than ever--a tangled mass of weeds andbrambles. He mechanically directed his steps towards the stragglingeglantine that had had a little rose ready for each of the fair visitorsthat accompanied him when last he was there, and was surprised anddelighted to see that it again held forth, as if for his acceptance, twolovely little blossoms that had come out to greet him, and upon each ofwhich a dewdrop sparkled amid the frail, delicately tinted petals. Hewas strangely moved and touched by the sight of these tiny wild roses,which awoke such tender, precious memories, and he repeated to himself,as he had often done before, the words in which Isabelle had confessedto him that she had furtively kissed the little flower, his offering,and dropped a tear upon it, and then secretly given him her own heart inexchange for it--surely the sweetest words ever spoken on this earth. Hegently plucked one of the dainty little roses, passionately inhaled itsdelicate fragrance and pressed a kiss upon it, as if it had been herlips, which were not less sweet, and soft, and fresh. He had donenothing but think of Isabelle ever since their separation, and he fullyrealized now, if he had not before, how indispensable she was to hishappiness. She was never out of his mind, waking or sleeping, for hedreamed of her every night, and his love grew fonder, if that werepossible, as the weary days went on. She was so good and true, so pureand sweet, so beautiful, so everything that was lovely and desirable,"made of all creatures' best," a veritable angel in human guise. Ah!how passionately he loved her--how could he live without her? Yethe feared--he was almost forced to believe--that he had lost herirreparably, and that for him hope was dead. Those were terrible daysfor the poor, grief-stricken young baron, and he felt that he could notlong endure such misery and live. Two or three months passed away thus,and one day when de Sigognac chanced to be in his own room, finishinga sonnet addressed to Isabelle, Pierre entered, and announced to hismaster that there was a gentleman without who wished to speak with him.
"A gentleman, who wants to see me!" exclaimed the astonished baron. "Youmust be either romancing or mad, my good Pierre! There is no gentlemanin the world who can have anything to say to me. However, for the rarityof the thing, you may bring in this extraordinary mortal--if such therereally be, and you are not dreaming, as I shrewdly suspect. But tell mehis name first, or hasn't he got any?"
"He declined to give it, saying that it would not afford your lordshipany information," Pierre made answer, as he turned back and opened wideboth leaves of the door.
Upon the threshold appeared a handsome young man, dressed in a rich andelegant travelling costume of chestnut brown cloth trimmed with green,and holding in his hand a broad felt hat with a long green plume;leaving his well shaped, proudly carried head fully exposed to view, aswell as the delicate, regular features of a face worthy of an ancientGreek statue. The sight of this fine cavalier did not seem to make anagreeable impression upon de Sigognac, who turned very pale, and rushingto where his trusty sword was suspended, over the head of his bed, drewit from the scabbard, and turned to face the new-comer with the nakedblade in his hand.
"By heaven, my lord duke, I believed that I had killed you!" he criedin excited tones. "Is it really you--your very self--or your wraith thatstands before me?"
"It is really I--my very self--Hannibal de Vallombreuse, in the flesh,and no wraith; as far from being dead as possible," answered the youngduke, with a radiant smile. "But put up that sword I pray you, mydear baron! We have fought twice already, you know, and surely that isenough. I do not come as an enemy, and if I have to reproach myself withsome little sins against you, you have certainly had your revenge forthem, so we are quits. To prove that my intentions are not hostile,but of the most friendly nature if you will so allow, I have broughtcredentials, in the shape of this commission, signed by the king, whichgives you command of a regiment. My good father and I have reminded hismajesty of the devotion of your illustrious ancestors to his royal ones,and I have ventured to bring you this good news in person. And now, asI am your guest, I pray you have something or other killed, I don't carewhat, and put on the spit to roast as quickly as may be--for the love ofGod give me something to eat--I am starving. The inns are so far apartand so abominably bad down here that there might almost as well be noneat all, and my baggage-wagon, stocked with edibles, is stuck fast in aquagmire a long way from this. So you see the necessities of the case."
"I am very much afraid, my lord duke, that the fare I can offer willseem to you only another form of revenge on my part," said de Sigognacwith playful courtesy; "but do not, I beseech you, attribute toresentment the meagre repast for which I shall be obliged to claim yourindulgence. You must know how gladly I would put before you a sumptuousmeal if I could; and what we can give you will at least, as my goodPierre says, satisfy hunger, though it may not gratify the palate. Andlet me now say that your frank and cordial words touch me deeply, andfind an echo in my inmost heart. I am both proud and happy to call youmy friend--henceforth you will not have one more loyal and devoted thanmyself--and though you may not often have need of my services, they willbe, none the less, always at your disposition. Halloa! Pierre! doyou go, without a moment's delay, and hunt up some fowls, eggs, meat,whatever you can find, and try to serve a substantial meal to thisgentleman, my friend, who is nearly dying with hunger, and is not usedto it like you and I."
Pierre put in his pocket some of the money his master had sent him fromParis--which he had never touched before--mounted the pony, and gallopedoff to the nearest village in search of provisions. He found severalfowls--such as they were--a splendid Bayonne ham, a few bottles of fineold wine, and by great good luck, discovered, at the priest's house, agrand big pate of ducks' livers--a delicacy worthy of a bishop's ora prince's table--and which he had much difficulty to obtain from hisreverence, who was a bit of a gourmand, at an almost fabulous price. Butthis was evidently a great occasion, and the faithful old servant wouldspare no pains to do it honour. In less than an hour he was at homeagain, and leaving the charge of the cooking to a capable woman he hadfound and sent out to the chateau, he immediately proceeded to set thetable, in the ancient banqueting hall--gathering together all the fineporcelain and dainty glass that yet remained intact in the two tallbuffets--evidences of former splendour. But the profusion of gold andsilver plate that used to adorn the festive board of the de Sigognacshad all been converted into coin of the realm long ago.
When at last the old servant announced that dinner was ready, thetwo young men took their places opposite to each other at table, andVallombreuse, who was in the gayest, most jovial mood, attacked theviands with an eagerness and ferocity immensely diverting to his host.After devouring almost the whole of a chicken, which, it is true, seemedto have died of a consumption, there was so little flesh on its bones,he fell back upon the tempting, rosy slices of the delicate Bayonne ham,and then passed to the pate of ducks' livers, which he declared to besupremely delicious, exquisite, ambrosial--food fit for the gods; andhe found the sharp cheese, made of goat's milk, which followed, anexcellent relish. He praised the wine, too--which was really very oldand fine and drank it with great gusto, out of his delicate Venetianwine-glass. Once, when he caught sight of Pierre's bewildered, terrifiedlook, as he heard his master address his merry guest as the Duke ofVallombreuse--who ought to be dead, if he was not--he fairly roared withlaughter, and was as full of fun and frolic as a school-boy out fora holiday; Meantime de Sigognac, whilst he endeavoured to play theattent
ive host, and to respond as well as he could to the young duke'slively sallies, could not recover from his surprise at seeing himsitting there opposite to himself, as a guest at his own table--makinghimself very much at home, too, in the most charming, genial, easy wayimaginable--and yet he was the haughty, overbearing, insolent youngnobleman, who had been his hated rival; whom he had twice encounteredand defeated, in fierce combat, and who had several times triedto compass his death by means of hired ruffians. What could be theexplanation of it all?
The Duke of Vallombreuse divined his companion's thoughts, and when theold servant had retired, after placing a bottle of especially choicewine and two small glasses on the table, he looked up at de Sigognac andsaid, with the most amicable frankness, "I can plainly perceive, my dearbaron, in spite of your admirable courtesy, that this unexpected step ofmine appears very strange and inexplicable to you. You have been sayingto yourself, How in the world has it come about, that the arrogant,imperious Vallombreuse has been transformed, from the unscrupulous,cruel, blood-thirsty tiger that he was, into the peaceable, playful lambhe seems to be now--which a 'gentle shepherdess' might lead about with aribbon round its neck!--I will tell you. During the six weeks that I wasconfined to my bed, I made various reflections, which the thoughtlessmight pronounce cowardly, but which are permitted to the bravest andmost valiant when death stares them in the face. I realized then, forthe first time, the relative value of many things, and also how wrongand wicked my own course had been; and I promised myself to do verydifferently for the future, if I recovered. As the passionate love thatIsabelle inspired in my heart had been replaced by a pure and sacredfraternal affection--which is the greatest blessing of my life--I hadno further reason to dislike you. You were no longer my rival; a brothercannot be jealous in that way of his own sister; and then, I was deeplygrateful to you, for the respectful tenderness and deference I knew youhad never failed to manifest towards her, when she was in a positionthat authorized great license. You were the first to recognise her pure,exalted soul, while she was still only an obscure actress. When she waspoor, and despised by those who will cringe to her now, you offeredto her--lowly as was her station--the most precious treasure that anobleman can possess: the time-honoured name of his ancestors. You wouldhave made her your wife then--now that she is rich, and of high rank,she belongs to you of right. The true, faithful lover of Isabelle, theactress, should be the honoured husband of the Comtesse de Lineuil."
"But you forget," cried de Sigognac, in much agitation, "that shealways absolutely refused me, though she knew that I was perfectlydisinterested."
"It was because of her supreme delicacy, her angelic susceptibility, andher noble spirit of self-sacrifice that she said that. She feared thatshe would necessarily be a disadvantage to you--an obstacle in the wayof your advancement. But the situation is entirely changed now."
"Yes, now it is I who would be a disadvantage to her; have I then aright to be less generous and magnanimous than she was?"
"Do you still love my sister?" said Vallombreuse, in a grave tone. "Asher brother, I have the right to ask this question."
"I love her with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength,"de Sigognac replied fervently, "as much and more than ever man lovedwoman on this earth--where nothing is perfect--save Isabelle."
"Such being the case, my dear Captain of Mousquetaires, and governor ofa province--soon to be--have your horse saddled, and come with me tothe Chateau of Vallombreuse, so that I may formally present you to theprince, my father, as the favoured suitor of the Comtesse de Lineuil, mysister. Isabelle has refused even to think of the Chevalier de Vidalinc,or the Marquis de l'Estang, as aspirants to her hand--both righthandsome, attractive, eligible young fellows, by Jove!--but I am ofopinion that she will accept, without very much persuasion, the Baron deSigognac."
The next day the duke and the baron were riding gaily forward, side byside, on the road to Paris.
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