The Old Man.

Two hours after they reached the castle. Bussy had been debating within himself whether or not to confide to his friends what he knew about Diana. But there was much that he could tell to no one, and he feared their questions, and besides, he wished to enter Méridor as a stranger.

Madame de St. Luc was surprised, when the report sounded his horn to announce a visit, that Diana did not run as usual to meet them, but instead of her appeared an old man, bent and leaning on a stick, and his white hair flying in the wind. He crossed the drawbridge, followed by two great dogs, and when he drew quite near, said in a feeble voice —

“Who is there, and who does a poor old man the honor to visit him?”

“It is I, Seigneur Augustin!” cried the laughing voice of the young woman.

But the baron, raising his head slowly, said, “You? I do not see. Who is it?”

“Oh, mon Dieu!” cried Jeanne, “do you not know me? It is true, my disguise ——”

“Excuse me,” said the old man, “but I can see little; the eyes of old men are not made for weeping, and if they weep too much, the tears burn them.”

“Must I tell you my name? I am Madame de St. Luc.”

“I do not know you.”

“Ah! but my maiden name was Jeanne de Cosse–Brissac.”

“Ah, mon Dieu!” cried the old man, trying to open the gate with his trembling hands. Jeanne, who did not understand this strange reception, still attributed it only to his declining faculties; but, seeing that he remembered her, jumped off her horse to embrace him, but as she did so she felt his cheek wet with tears.

“Come,” said the old man, turning towards the house, without even noticing the others. The chateau had a strange sad look; all the blinds were down, and no one was visible.

“Is Diana unfortunately not at home?” asked Jeanne. The old man stopped, and looked at her with an almost terrified expression. “Diana!” said he. At this name the two dogs uttered a mournful howl. “Diana!” repeated the old man; “do you not, then, know?”

And his voice, trembling before, was extinguished in a sob.

“But what has happened?” cried Jeanne, clasping her hands.

“Diana is dead!” cried the old man, with a torrent of tears.

“Dead!” cried Jeanne, growing as pale as death.

“Dead,” thought Bussy; “then he has let him also think her dead. Poor old man! how he will bless me some day!”

“Dead!” cried the old man again; “they killed her.”

“Ah, my dear baron!” cried Jeanne, bursting into tears, and throwing her arms round the old man’s neck.

“But,” said he at last, “though desolate and empty, the old house is none the less hospitable. Enter.”

Jeanne took the old man’s arm, and they went into the dining-hall, where he sunk into his armchair. At last, he said, “You said you were married; which is your husband?”

M. de St. Luc advanced and bowed to the old man, who tried to smile as he saluted him; then, turning to Bussy, said, “And this gentleman?”

“He is our friend, M. Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy d’Amboise, gentleman of M. le Duc d’Anjou.”

At these words the old man started up, threw a withering glance at Bussy, and then sank back with a groan.

“What is it?” said Jeanne.

“Does the baron know you, M. de Bussy?” asked St. Luc.

“It is the first time I ever had the honor of seeing M. de Méridor,” said Bussy, who alone understood the effect which the name of the Duc d’Anjou had produced on the old man.

“Ah! you a gentleman of the Duc d’Anjou!” cried the baron, “of that monster, that demon, and you dare to avow it, and have the audacity to present yourself here!”

“Is he mad?” asked St. Luc of his wife.

“Grief must have turned his brain,” replied she, in terror.

“Yes, that monster!” cried he again; “the assassin who killed my child! Ah, you do not know,” continued he, taking Jeanne’s hands; “but the ............