ches and
beauty, regard her, Lord, with kindness, and treat her in accordance with
your sovereign mercy."

And he went erect, and dragging his leg, along the populous avenue.

CHAPTER XXX

A LETTER FROM ROBERT

Enveloped in a mantle of pink broad cloth, Therese went down the steps
with Dechartre. He had come in the morning to Joinville. She had made him
join the circle of her intimate friends, before the hunting-party to
which she feared Le Menil had been invited, as was the custom. The light
air of September agitated the curls of her hair, and the sun made golden
darts shine in the profound gray of her eyes. Behind them, the facade of
the palace displayed above the three arcades of the first story, in the
intervals of the windows, on long tables, busts of Roman emperors. The
house was placed between two tall pavilions which their great slate roofs
made higher, over pillars of the Ionic order. This style betrayed the art
of the architect Leveau, who had constructed, in 1650, the castle of
Joinville-sur-Oise for that rich Mareuilles, creature of Mazarin, and
fortunate accomplice of Fouquet.

Therese and Jacques saw before them the flower-beds designed by Le Notre,
the green carpet, the fountain; then the grotto with its five rustic
arcades crowned by the tall trees on which autumn had already begun to
spread its golden mantle.

"This green geometry is beautiful," said Dechartre.

"Yes," said Therese. "But I think of the tree bent in the small courtyard
where grass grows among the stones. We shall build a beautiful fountain
in it, shall we not, and put flowers in it?"

Leaning against one of the stone lions with almost human faces, that
guarded the steps, she turned her head toward the castle, and, looking at
one of the windows, said:

"There is your room; I went into it last night. On the same floor, on the
other side, at the other end, is my father's office. A white wooden
table, a mahogany portfolio, a decanter on the mantelpiece: his office
when he was a young man. Our entire fortune came from that place."

Through the sand-covered paths between the flowerbeds they walked to the
boxwood hedge which bordered the park on the southern side. They passed
before the orange-grove, the monumental door of which was surmounted by
the Lorraine cross of Mareuilles, and then passed under the linden-trees
which formed an alley on the lawn. Statues of nymphs shivered in the damp
shade studded with pale lights. A pi