But this rest after so many vain excitements, this haven after so many storms and shipwrecks, was denied him.  He was penniless; how could he live here when he had nothing to live upon?

This thought of his pressing want gave him courage to ask Joseph for the key of the chateau, that he might go and examine its condition.

“You won’t need the key, except the one to the front door, M. the marquis,” replied Joseph.

It was but too true.  Time had done its work, and the lordly manor of Clameran was nothing but a ruin.  The rain and sun had rotted the shutters so that they were crumbling and dilapidated.

Here and there were traces of the friendly hand of St. Jean, who had tried to retard the total ruin of the old chateau; but of what use were his efforts?

Within, the desolation was still greater.  All of the furniture which Louis had not dared to sell stood in the position he left it, but in what a state!  All of the tapestry hangings and coverings were moth-eaten and in tatters; nothing seemed left but the dust-covered woodwork of the chairs and sofas.

Louis was almost afraid to enter these grand, gloomy rooms, where every footfall echoed until the air seemed to be filled with sounds strange and ominous.

He almost expected to see the angry old marquis start from some dark corner, and heap curses on his head for having dishonored the name.

He turned pale with terror, when he suddenly recalled the scene of his fatal stumble and poor Gaston’s death.  The room was surely inhabited by the spirits of these two murdered men.  His nerves could not bear it, and he hurried out into the open air and sunshine.

After a while, he recovered sufficiently to remember the object of his visit.

“Poor St. Jean was foolish to let the furniture in the chateau drop to pieces.  Why did he not use it?”

“My father would not have dared to touch anything without receiving an order, M. the marquis.”

“He was very unwise to wait for an order, when anything was going to destruction without benefiting anyone.  As the chateau is fast approaching the condition of the furniture, and my fortune does not permit me to repair it, I will sell it before the walls crumble away.”

Joseph could scarcely believe his ears.  He regarded the selling of the chateau of Clameran as a sacrilege; but he was not bold of speech, like his father, so he dared not express an opinion.

“Would there be difficulty in selling this ruin?” continued Louis.

“That depends upon the price you ask, M. the marquis; I know a man who would purchase the property if he could get it cheap.”

“Who is he?”

“M.  Fougeroux, who lives on the other side of the river.  He came from Beaucaire, and twelve years ago married a servant-maid of the late Countess de la Verberie.  Perhaps M. the marquis remembers her—­a plump, bright-eyed brunette, named Mihonne.”