almost defiant air, she wore a velvet hat, such as one sees in portraits of Marie Antoinette; one hand toyed with the balls of her countess’s coronet, which lay on a cushion by her; the other held the leash of a tall greyhound which stood at her feet. The face was very fair; but so unquiet, so wildly passionate was its expression, that involuntarily I found myself repeating the strange words of the old housekeeper, “Pauvre dame, après tant d’années ne peut-elle dormir en paix?” On the other side of the room was another portrait; it was that of a man in the prime of life, with happiness written in every line of a handsome, open countenance. At the bottom of the frame was written Henri de Carlan. One other picture yet remained. It was smaller than either of the other two, and hung between the windows in a simple oval frame. Less brilliant than the one, less happy than the other, it possessed perhaps more real and lasting beauty than either. There was a touching and mournful simplicity in the dark eyes that gazed so frankly into yours, in the small hands clasped so tightly over the slender chain that hung from her neck and was the sole attempt at ornament. The portrait bore the name of Alix de Carlan.
“Sister of the last?” I asked, pointing to the portrait of the gentleman.
The old woman sighed.
“No, cousin,” she said. “She was an orphan and brought up here.”
Opening a door, we passed up a narrow staircase to a large bed-room which was probably that of the lady of the house. The hangings and ornaments were similar to those in the boudoir below, and the same care was visible in its arrangements. Three doors opened into it. One communicated with the ante-room through which we had entered, one with a room containing several little beds, doubtless the nursery of the children of the household; the third opened upon the wide passage above the great staircase. We passed on again through a suite of rooms, none of which presented any particular interest, save that of antique furniture, and strange quaint closets and corners. At last my hostess drew from her pocket a key, and putting it into the lock of a door near the staircase, showed me into a pleasant, cheerful room, overlooking the moat and park, and remarkable for its freshness and air of constant use. It was hung with blue, much simpler in its arrangements than the boudoir or state bed-room. I could not help connecting it with the dark-eyed portrait below. On the walls were two or three portraits, and by the bed a statue of the Madonna; at its feet was a bunch of withered flowers.
An involuntary shudder passed over me as we came to the door of my last night’s room.
“I have not forgotten my promise,” the old housekeeper said; “you have seen all now, except the chapel, which we will visit later: now come down again to the room below.”
In a few minutes I found myself seated in the boudoir hearing from her the strange story of the Lady Gabrielle de Plessis.
“My mother was femme de chambre to the mother of Count Henri de Carlan,” the old lady said. “I was born in the house. When I first remember the young Count, he was a fine, merry boy of about twelve; Lady Alix, his orphan cousin, was a little, dark-eyed girl of nine or ten. I was destined to be her attendant, but now my intercourse with my little mistress was limited to an occasional game of play with her and my young master. They were a charming pair, so full of life and fun, of love for each other, and devotion to my Lady Countess. I remember even then the significant looks and signs that followed them everywhere, and how people counted confidently on what must take place when they grew up. It was not so, however; by the time they were old enough to think of such things, I was of age to take my place in my young lady’s room, and I am pretty sure she never thought of her cousin but as a very dear brother. The Countess herself soon saw how it was, and was the first to give up the idea of their marrying: and so they went on with their old childish intercourse, so full of affection and confidence. The Count Henri was very proud of my young lady’s beauty, and would often come to her room while her toilette was going on, to see that her dress was to his taste. I fancy I see him now, putting her wreaths of roses on his powdered curls, sticking patches on his cheeks, unfolding her fans, and rouging his healthy red cheeks, and then racing off in a hurry to wash it off in time to hand her and his mother into the coach.
“They were merry times: such parties and dancing and hunts, and so many beaux for my Lady Alix. It was well known that my young lady’s fortune was one of the largest in France, so she had many offers. She was not to be taken in, however, by all the fortune-hunters, and she never seemed to care for one of the gentlemen she met except the young Baron de Lisle, who was a soldier and came very seldom to Carlan. Before long we all saw that there was some chance of my young lord bringing us home a mistress, and then I became really anxious that Mademoiselle Alix should find a home of her own. She did not seem to feel it herself, sweet lady, but prepared to love her new cousin with all her heart. The Countess, however, did not feel so, I am sure. She would have been ready enough to give up her place to her niece, but she could not brook the idea of a stranger stepping into her shoes. I think that my young master saw this, too; for he never told his mother of his hopes and wishes, but used to pour them all out to his cousin. Many an evening they walked together, talking earnestly, on some subject or other interesting to both; and one evening, as she said Good Night to him at the foot of the staircase, I heard her whisper something about “la belle Gabrielle,” and he blushed crimson in his young, honest way, while she can laughing to her room. So it went on for a short time, until one day we heard that our young lord was to marry the Countess and heiress of de Plessis. The wedding took place there, and our ladies were to have been present, but my lady Countess was ailing, so we did not see our new mistress till she came here.
“There were great rejoicings in the place when they returned, and the leader of all the fêtes was Lady Alix. Our new lady was very beautiful. I shall never forget the day I saw her walk up the