“Ah! thank you, thank you, my good woman!  You have children?  Buy them sabots with this,” and drop ping a gold piece in the lap of the obliging peasant, Camors walked rapidly away.  Returning home the road seemed less gloomy and far shorter than when he came.  As he strode on, humming the Bach prelude, the moon rose, the country looked more beautiful, and, in short, when he perceived, at the end of its gloomy avenue, his chateau bathed in the white light, he found the spectacle rather enjoyable than otherwise.  And when he had once more ensconced himself in the maternal domicile, and inhaled the odor of damp paper and mouldy trees that constituted its atmosphere, he found great consolation in the reflection that there existed not very far away from him a young woman who possessed a charming face, a delicious voice, and a pretty name.

Next morning, after plunging into a cold bath, to the profound astonishment of the old steward and his wife, the Comte de Camors went to inspect his farms.  He found the buildings very similar in construction to the dams of beavers, though far less comfortable; but he was amazed to hear his farmers arguing, in their patois, on the various modes of culture and crops, like men who were no strangers to all modern improvements in agriculture.  The name of Des Rameures frequently occurred in the conversation as confirmation of their own theories, or experiments.  M. des Rameures gave preference to this manure, to this machine for winnowing; this breed of animals was introduced by him.  M. des Rameures did this, M. des Rameures did that, and the farmers did like him, and found it to their advantage.  Camors found the General had not exaggerated the local importance of this personage, and that it was most essential to conciliate him.  Resolving therefore to call on him during the day, he went to breakfast.

This duty toward himself fulfilled, the young Count lounged on the terrace, as he had the evening before, and smoked his cigar.  Though it was near midday, it was doubtful to him whether the solitude and silence appeared less complete and oppressive than on the preceding night.  A hushed cackling of fowls, the drowsy hum of bees, and the muffled chime of a distant bell—­these were all the sounds to be heard.

Camors lounged on the terrace, dreaming of his club, of the noisy Paris crowd, of the rumbling omnibuses, of the playbill of the little kiosk, of the scent of heated asphalt—­and the memory of the least of these enchantments brought infinite peace to his soul.  The inhabitant of Paris has one great blessing, which he does not take into account until he suffers from its loss—­one great half of his existence is filled up without the least trouble to himself.  The all-potent vitality which ceaselessly envelops him takes away from him in a vast degree the exertion of amusing himself.  The roar of the city, rising like a great bass around him, fills up the gaps in his thoughts, and never leaves that disagreeable sensation—­a void.