ut as they neared Chamondrin he, too, became a victim to the melancholy
he had endeavored to dissipate.

At last the post-chaise rolled noisily under one of the arches of the
Pont du Gard, and a few moments later the horses, panting and covered
with foam after climbing the steep ascent, entered the court-yard of the
chateau.

The Marquis and Dolores, who were waiting for supper to be served, had
seated themselves on the terrace overlooking the park. The sound of
carriage wheels drew them into the court-yard just as Philip and
Coursegol were alighting. There was a cry of joy, and then the long
separated friends embraced one another. It would be impossible to
describe this meeting and the rapture of this return.

It was Dolores whom Philip saw first. Her wonderful beauty actually
startled him. Four years had transformed the child into an exquisitely
and lovely young girl. Her delicate features, her golden hair, her
lustrous dark eyes, her vermillion lips, her musical yet penetrating
voice, her willowy figure and her beautifully shaped hands aroused
Philip's intense admiration. A pure and noble love had filled his heart
during his absence, and had exerted a powerful and restraining influence
over his actions, his thoughts, his hopes and his language. He had
endowed his idol with beauty in his fancy, but, beautiful as he had
pictured her, he was obliged to confess on beholding her that the
reality surpassed his dreams, and he loved her still more ardently.

The Marquis led his son to the drawing-room. He, too, wished to observe
the changes that time had wrought in Philip. He scrutinized him closely
by the light of the candles, embraced him, and then looked at him again
admiringly. His son was, indeed, the noble heir of an illustrious race.

They talked of the past and of the dead. They wept, but these were not
the same bitter tears the Marquis had shed after his bereavement. The
joy of seeing his son consoled him in a measure, and death seemed to him
less cruel because, when he was surrounded by his children, his faith
and his hope gathered new strength.

The first evening flew by on wings. Philip, to divert his father,
described the stirring events and the countless intrigues of which the
court had been the theatre; and together they talked of the hopes and
the fears of the country. Philip spoke in the most enthusiastic terms of
the kind-hearted Duke de Penthieore who had aided him so much in life,
of the Chevalier d