high carved door was swung open as Wrexler and I got out of the car.
Monsieur de Carrier, my father's lawyer, advanced to meet us, a friendly
smile on his Santa Claus countenance. I shook hands, introduced Wrexler
as "a very good friend who is going to stay with me."

Monsieur Carrier's face fell. Clearly Wrexler's being with me was a
disappointment. Nevertheless, he greeted him politely, as he ushered us
in.

That moment Rougemont took me to its heart and won me for its own.

Imagine Amboise, or any of the great French chateaux, suddenly restored
to itself as it was in the days of the Medici, and you have a small idea
of Rougemont. For we had stepped out of the present into the past.
Carrier, Wrexler and I were anachronisms; everything else was in keeping
with the dead centuries. Even the servants were in doublet and hose of a
sort of cerulean blue, with great slashes puffed with crimson silk.

I think I gasped. At any rate, Monsieur Carrier saw my astonishment. "It
is your father's will, my boy. He always kept it so, and wore the
costume of former days, himself. He greatly admired the first Francis.
In your rooms you will find costumes prepared for you. For the last six
months of his life, he was making ready for his son." There was an odd
sort of pride in Carrier's voice.

I remembered now that my father had written for my measurements. I had
thought he meant to make me a present, but when time passed and I heard
nothing, the incident had slipped from my mind. I looked at Wrexler,
expecting to see some sign of amusement on his face, but he stood
quietly looking at the tapestry that hung half-way up the grand
stairway. There was a dreamy, far-away expression in his eyes.

"May I speak before your friend?" Carrier asked.

I nodded. The servants had already disappeared with our luggage. I threw
myself down on a long, low bench, and Carrier sat opposite me.

"You understood the terms of your father's will, of course," Carrier
began, "that you must live here six months, but you did not know that
you must live here, as he did, in the past. If you do not, then
Rougemont goes to your father's steward, with the same conditions--to be
kept always as it is; with only a small sum set aside for you."

I said nothing. Driving along the road from Paris, it would have seemed
fantastic, but here--under the spell of Rougemont--it seemed as though
anything else would be impossible.

* * * * *