gnificant to him now, to
his extreme surprise and mortification; but he soon regained the feeling
of being really at home, and resumed his former way of life completely;
just as one goes back to an old garment, that has for a time been laid
aside, and replaced by a new one. His days were spent thus: early in the
morning he went to say a short prayer in the half-ruined chapel where
his ancestors lay, ere he repaired to the kitchen where his simple
breakfast awaited him; that disposed of, he and old Pierre fetched their
swords, and fought their friendly duels; after which he mounted Bayard,
or the pony he had brought home with him, and went off for long,
solitary rides over the desolate Landes. Returning late in the afternoon
he sat, sad and silent as of old, until his frugal supper was prepared,
partook of it, also in silence, and then retired to his lonely chamber,
where he tried to read some musty old volume which he knew by heart
already, or else flung himself on his bed--never without kissing the
sacred pillow that had supported Isabelle's beloved head--and lay there
a prey to mournful and bitter meditations, until at last he could forget
his troubles and grief in sleep. There was not a vestige left of the
brilliant Captain Fracasse, nor of the high-spirited rival of the
haughty Duke of Vallombreuse; the unfortunate young Baron de Sigognac
had relapsed entirely into the sad-eyed, dejected master of Castle
Misery.

One morning he sauntered listlessly down into the garden, which was
wilder and more overgrown than ever--a tangled mass of weeds and
brambles. He mechanically directed his steps towards the straggling
eglantine that had had a little rose ready for each of the fair visitors
that accompanied him when last he was there, and was surprised and
delighted to see that it again held forth, as if for his acceptance, two
lovely little blossoms that had come out to greet him, and upon each of
which a dewdrop sparkled amid the frail, delicately tinted petals. He
was strangely moved and touched by the sight of these tiny wild roses,
which awoke such tender, precious memories, and he repeated to himself,
as he had often done before, the words in which Isabelle had confessed
to him that she had furtively kissed the little flower, his offering,
and dropped a tear upon it, and then secretly given him her own heart in
exchange for it--surely the sweetest words ever spoken on this earth. He
gently plucked one of the dainty lit