Description
CHAPTER I.A DUCAL MONOMANIAC.The traveller who wishes to go from Poitiers to London by the shortestroute will find that the simplest way is to take a seat in thestage-coach which runs to Saumur; and when you book your place, thepolite clerk tells you that you must take your seat punctually at sixo’clock. The next morning, therefore, the traveller has to rise from hisbed at a very early hour, and make a hurried and incomplete toilet, andon arriving, flushed and panting, at the office, discover that there wasno occasion for such extreme haste.In the hotel from whence the coach starts every one seems to be asleep,and a waiter, whose eyes are scarcely open, wanders languidly about.There is not the slightest good in losing your temper, or in pouring outa string of violent remonstrances. In a small restaurant opposite a cupof hot coffee can be procured, and it is there that the disappointedtravellers congregate, to await the hour when the coach really makes astart.At length, however, all is ready, the conductor utters a tremendousexecration, the coachman cracks his whip, the horses spring forward, thewheels rattle, and the coach is off at last. Whilst the conductor smokeshis pipe tranquilly, the passengers gaze out of the windows and admirethe beautiful aspect of the surrounding country. On each side stretchthe woods and fields of Bevron. The covers are full of game, which hasincreased enormously, as the owner of the property has never allowed ashot to be fired since he had the misfortune, some twenty years ago, tokill one of his dependents whilst out shooting. On the right hand sidesome distance off rise the tower and battlements of the Chateau deMussidan. It is two years ago since the Dowager Countess of Chevanchedied, leaving all her fortune to her niece, Mademoiselle Sabine deMussidan. She was a kind-hearted woman, rough and ready in her manner,but very popular amongst the peasantry. Farther off, on the top of somerising ground, appears an imposing structure, of an ancient style ofarchitecture; this is the ancient residence of the Dukes of Champdoce.The left wing is a picturesque mass of ruins; the roof has fallenin, and the mullions of the windows are dotted with a thick growth ofclustering ivy. Rain, storm, and sunshine have all done their work, andpainted the mouldering walls with a hundred varied tints. In 1840 theinheritor of one of the noblest names of France resided here withhis only son. The name of the present proprietor was Caesar GuillaumeDuepair de Champdoce. He was looked upon both by the gentry andpeasantry of the country side as a most eccentric individual. He couldbe seen any day wandering about, dressed in the most shabby manner, andwearing a coat that was frequently in urgent need of repair, a leatherncap on his head, wooden shoes, and a stout oaken cudgel in his hand. Inwinter he supplemented to these an ancient sheepskin coat. He was sixtyyears of age, very powerfully built, and possessing enormous strength.The expression upon his face showed that his will was as strong ashis thews and sinews. Beneath his shaggy eyebrows twinkled a pair oflight-gray eyes, which darkened when a fit of passion overtook him, andthis was no unusual occurrence.
