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CHAPTER XL. THE CHATEAU OF ETTENHEIM

I now come to an incident in my life, which, however briefly I may
speak, has left the deepest impression on my memory. I have told the
reader how I left Kuffstein fully satisfied that the Count de Marsanne
was Laura's lover, and that in keeping my promise to see and speak with
him, I was about to furnish an instance of self-denial and fidelity that
nothing in ancient or modern days could compete with.

The letter was addressed, 'The Count Louis de Marsanne, Chateau
d'Ettenheim, a Baden,' and thither I accordingly repaired, travelling
over the Arlberg to Bregenz, and across the Lake of Constance to
Freyburg; my passport containing a very few words in cipher, which
always sufficed to afford me free transit and every attention from the
authorities. I had left the southern Tyrol in the outburst of a glorious
spring, but as I journeyed northward I found the rivers frozen, the
roads encumbered with snow, and the fields untilled and dreary-looking.
Like all countries which derive their charms from the elements of rural
beauty, foliage and verdure, Germany offers a sad coloured picture to
the traveller in winter or wintry weather.

It was thus, then, that the Grand-Duchy, so celebrated for its
picturesque beauty, struck me as a scene of dreary and desolate
wildness, an impression which continued to increase with every mile I
travelled from the highroad.

A long unbroken flat, intersected here and there by stunted willows,
traversed by a narrow earth road, lay between the Rhine and the Taunus
Mountains, in the midst of which stood the village of 'Ettenheim.'
Outside the village, about half a mile off, and on the border of a vast
pine forest, stood the chateau.

It was originally a hunting-seat of the Dukes of Baden, but from
neglect, and disuse, gradually fell into ruin, from which it was
reclaimed, imperfectly enough, a year before, and now exhibited some
remnants of its former taste, along with the evidences of a far less
decorative spirit; the lower rooms being arranged as a stable, while the
stair and entrance to the first storey opened from a roomy coach-house.
Here some four or five conveyances of rude construction were gathered
together, splashed and unwashed, as if from recent use; and at a small
stove in a corner was seated a peasant in a blue frock, smoking as he
affected to clean a bridle which he held before him.

Without rising from his seat he saluted me, with