de Mantua, who had at that time retired for a while to Chaumont, saw with surprise that sudden preparations were being made for departure.  The old domestic of the Marechal d’Effiat (who had been dead six months) had taken again to his travelling-boots, which he had sworn to abandon forever.  This brave fellow, named Grandchamp, had followed the chief of the family everywhere in the wars, and in his financial work; he had been his equerry in the former, and his secretary in the latter.  He had recently returned from Germany, to inform the mother and the children of the death of the Marechal, whose last sighs he had heard at Luzzelstein.  He was one of those faithful servants who are become too rare in France; who suffer with the misfortunes of the family, and rejoice with their joys; who approve of early marriages, that they may have young masters to educate; who scold the children and often the fathers; who risk death for them; who serve without wages in revolutions; who toil for their support; and who in prosperous times follow them everywhere, or exclaim at their return, “Behold our vines!” He had a severe and remarkable face, a coppery complexion, and silver-gray hair, in which, however, some few locks, black as his heavy eyebrows, made him appear harsh at first; but a gentle countenance softened this first impression.  At present his voice was loud.  He busied himself much that day in hastening the dinner, and ordered about all the servants, who were in mourning like himself.

“Come,” said he, “make haste to serve the dinner, while Germain, Louis, and Etienne saddle their horses; Monsieur Henri and I must be far away by eight o’clock this evening.  And you, gentlemen, Italians, have you warned your young Princess?  I wager that she is gone to read with her ladies at the end of the park, or on the banks of the lake.  She always comes in after the first course, and makes every one rise from the table.”

“Ah, my good Grandchamp,” said in a low voice a young maid servant who was passing, “do not speak of the Duchess; she is very sorrowful, and I believe that she will remain in her apartment.  Santa Maria! what a shame to travel to-day! to depart on a Friday, the thirteenth of the month, and the day of Saint Gervais and of Saint-Protais—­the day of two martyrs!  I have been telling my beads all the morning for Monsieur de Cinq-Mars; and I could not help thinking of these things.  And my mistress thinks of them too, although she is a great lady; so you need not laugh!”

With these words the young Italian glided like a bird across the large dining-room, and disappeared down a corridor, startled at seeing the great doors of the salon opened.