sitors were allowed to see the house and grounds.
Mine host, who doubtless had had his directions, sent a messenger
immediately to the Castle, who returned before long, accompanied by a
chasseur, in a splendid livery, who invited the stranger to the Castle
in the name of M. D'Effernay.

This was exactly what Edward wished, and expected. Escorted by the
chasseur he soon arrived at the Castle, and was shown up a spacious
staircase into a modern, almost, one might say, a
magnificently-furnished room, where the master of the house received
him. It was evening, toward the end of winter, the shades of twilight
had already fallen, and Edward found himself suddenly in a room quite
illuminated with wax candles. D'Effernay stood in the middle of the
saloon, a tall, thin young man. A proud bearing seemed to bespeak a
consciousness of his own merit, or at least of his position. His
features were finely formed, but the traces of stormy passion, or of
internal discontent, had lined them prematurely.

In figure he was very slender, and the deep sunken eye, the gloomy frown
which was fixed between his brows, and the thin lips, had no very
prepossessing expression, and yet there was something imposing in the
whole appearance of the man.

Edward thanked him civilly for his invitation, spoke of his idea of
being a purchaser as a motive for his visit, and gave his own, and his
father's name. D'Effernay seemed pleased with all he said. He had known
Edward's family in the metropolis; he regretted that the late hour would
render it impossible for them to visit the property to-day, and
concluded by pressing the lieutenant to pass the night at the Castle. On
the morrow they would proceed to business, and now he would have the
pleasure of presenting his wife to the visitor. Edward's heart beat
violently--at length then he would see her! Had he loved her himself he
could not have gone to meet her with more agitation. D'Effernay led his
guest through many rooms, which were all as well furnished, and as
brilliantly lighted, as the first he had entered. At length he opened
the door of a small boudoir, where there was no light, save that which
the faint, gray twilight imparted through the windows.

The simple arrangement of this little room, with dark green walls, only
relieved by some engravings and coats of arms, formed a pleasing
contrast to Edward's eyes, after the glaring splendor of the other
apartments. From behind a piano-forte, at which