ting a massive clump of ash-trees, two round towers with
tops shaped like extinguishers. The coachman pointed them out to the
young man with the end of his whip.

"There is Vivey," said he, "and here is your property, Monsieur de
Buxieres."

Julien started, and, notwithstanding his alienation from worldly things,
he could not repress a feeling of satisfaction when he reflected that,
by legal right, he was about to become master of the woods, the fields,
and the old homestead of which the many-pointed slate roofs gleamed in
the distance. This satisfaction was mingled with intense curiosity,
but it was also somewhat shadowed by a dim perspective of the technical
details incumbent on his taking possession. No doubt he should be
obliged, in the beginning, to make himself personally recognized, to
show the workmen and servants of the chateau that the new owner was
equal to the situation. Now, Julien was not, by nature, a man of action,
and the delicately expressed fears of Reine Vincart made him uneasy in
his mind. When the carriage, suddenly turning a corner, stopped in front
of the gate of entrance, and he beheld, through the cast-iron railing,
the long avenue of ash-trees, the grass-grown courtyard, the silent
facade, his heart began to beat more rapidly, and his natural timidity
again took possession of him.

"The gate is closed, and they don't seem to be expecting you," remarked
the driver.

They dismounted. Noticing that the side door was half open, the coachman
gave a vigorous pull on the chain attached to the bell. At the sound
of the rusty clamor, a furious barking was heard from an adjoining
outhouse, but no one inside the house seemed to take notice of the
ringing.

"Come, let us get in all the same," said the coachman, giving another
pull, and stealing a furtive look at his companion's disconcerted
countenance.

He fastened his horse to the iron fence, and both passed through the
side gate to the avenue, the dogs all the while continuing their
uproar. Just as they reached the courtyard, the door opened and Manette
Sejournant appeared on the doorstep.

"Good-morning, gentlemen," said she, in a slow, drawling voice, "is it
you who are making all this noise?"

The sight of this tall, burly woman, whose glance betokened both
audacity and cunning, increased still more Julien's embarrassment. He
advanced awkwardly, raised his hat and replied, almost as if to excuse
himself:

"I beg pardon, Madame--I am the