She had secret conferences with her steward, with an architect, and also with certain sculptors and painters—­all without de Sigognac’s knowledge, and by the connivance of Vallombreuse, who seemed to be her confidant, aider and abettor.

One fine morning, several months after their marriage, Isabelle said to de Sigognac, as if a sudden thought had struck her:  “My dear lord, do you never think of your poor, deserted, old chateau? and have you no desire to return to the birthplace of our love?”

“I am not so unfeeling as that, my darling, and I have thought of it longingly many times of late.  But I did not like to propose the journey to you without being sure that it would please you.  I did not like to tear you away from the delights of the court—­of which you are the chief ornament—­and take you to that poor, old, half-ruined mansion, the haunt of rats and owls, where I could not hope to make you even comfortable, yet, which I prefer, miserable as it is, to the most luxurious palaces; for it was the home of my ancestors, and the place where I first saw you, my heart’s delight!—­spot ever sacred and dear to me, upon which I should like to erect an altar.”

“And I,” rejoined Isabelle, “often wonder whether the eglantine in the garden still blooms, as it did for me.”

“It does,” said de Sigognac, “I am sure of it—­having once been blessed by your touch, it must be always blooming—­even though there be none to see.”

“Ah! my lord, unlike husbands in general, you are more gallant after marriage than before,” Isabelle said, laughingly, yet deeply touched by his tender words, “and you pay your wife compliments as if she were your ladylove.  And now, since I have ascertained that your wishes accord with my whim, will it please your lordship to set out for the Chateau de Sigognac this week?  The weather is fine.  The great heat of summer is over, and we can really enjoy the journey.  Vallombreuse will go with us, and I shall take Chiquita.  She will be glad to see her own country again.”

The needful preparations were soon made, and the travelling party set off in high spirits.  The journey was rapid and delightful.  Relays of horses had been sent on in advance by Vallombreuse, so that in a few days they reached the point where the road leading to the Chateau de Sigognac branched off from the great post-road.  It was about two o’clock of a bright, warm afternoon when the carriage turned off the highway, and as they got, at the same moment, their first view of the chateau, de Sigognac could not believe the testimony of his own eyes—­he was bewildered, dazzled, overwhelmed—­he no longer recognised the familiar details which had been so deeply impressed upon his memory.  All was changed, as if by magic.  The road, smooth, free from grass and weeds, and freshly gravelled, had no more ruts; the hedges, neatly trimmed and properly tended, no longer reached out long, straggling arms to catch the rare passer-by; the tall trees on either