attention. Isabelle had long ago sent orders to the chateau that the
superannuated pony should always have the best place in the stable,
and be tenderly cared for. His manger was full of ground oats, which he
seemed to be enjoying with great gusto, and he evidently approved highly
of the new regime. In his stall Miraut lay sleeping, but the sound of
his master's voice aroused him, and he joyfully jumped up and came to
lick his hand, and claim the accustomed caress. As to Beelzebub, though
he had not yet made his appearance, it must not be attributed to a want
of affection on his part, but rather to an excess of timidity. The poor
old cat had been so unsettled and alarmed at the invasion of the quiet
chateau by an army of noisy workmen, and all the confusion and changes
that had followed, that he had fled from his usual haunts, and taken up
his abode in a remote attic; where he lay in concealment, impatiently
waiting for darkness to come, so that he might venture out to pay his
respects to his beloved master.

The baron, after petting Bayard and Miraut until they were in ecstasies
of delight, chose from among the horses a beautiful, spirited chestnut
for himself, the duke selected a Spanish jennet, with proudly arched
neck and flowing mane, which was worthy to carry an Infanta, and an
exquisite white palfrey, whose skin shone like satin, was brought out
for the baronne. In a few moments Isabelle came down, attired in a
superb riding habit, which consisted of a dark blue velvet basque,
richly braided with silver, over a long, ample skirt of silver-gray
satin, and her broad hat of white felt, like a cavalier's, was trimmed
with a floating, dark blue feather. Her beautiful hair was confined in
the most coquettish little blue and silver net, and as she came forward,
radiant with smiles, she was a vision of loveliness, that drew forth
fervent exclamations of delight from her two devoted and adoring
knights. The Baronne de Sigognac certainly was enchantingly beautiful
in her rich equestrian costume, which displayed the perfection of her
slender, well-rounded figure to the greatest advantage, and there was
a high-bred, dainty look about her which bore silent witness to her
illustrious origin. She was still the sweet, modest Isabelle of old,
but she was also the daughter of a mighty prince, the sister of a proud
young duke, and the honoured wife of a valiant gentleman, whose race had
been noble since before the crusades. Vallomb