Gilbert de Château-Foix did choose, and at once. It was a real and no forced choice, for, except his father's wishes, not expressed in any document, but clamant in his own heart, there was no binding reason why he should reside on his estate. Throwing up the commission—the result of studies more than satisfactory—which awaited him in Royal-Aunis, and with it his dreams of military glory, he announced his intention of devoting himself to the care of his tenantry. He was not yet twenty-one, but if he knew regrets and distastes, he shared them with no one. His comrades and his friends in Paris thought him bereft of his senses, and stigmatised him as an eccentric. The very handsome youth in the blue, scarlet, and silver of the _gardes-du-corps_ who held an amazed conference with him one afternoon in the Allée du Mail at Versailles was half incredulous, half amused. “I had hoped, before I died,” he said, “to be pointed out as the kinsman of a marshal of France. You should consider, Gilbert, that you are wrecking the ambitions of other people as well as your own.” The young Marquis tried to explain that he was not wrecking his ambitions, or, at least, only some of them. “Then I suppose,” said Louis, “that you are going to be a sort of philosopher, like the late M. Voltaire, in his retreat at Ferney. My cousin, the celebrated philosopher,” he repeated softly to himself. But though the Vicomte ended, as usual, on a jesting note, Gilbert fancied that he was sorrier, or more sympathetic, than he cared to own. Years afterwards he learned that Louis had subsequently called out a subaltern of Royal-Aunis for saying that the regiment was well delivered from such a milksop as M. de Château-Foix. CHAPTER II ON THE TERRACE “There must be some misunderstanding,” said the Marquis. “I am afraid,” rejoined the Curé, “that there is something worse.” They were pacing slowly up and down the terrace at Chantemerle among the roses of the late June of 1792. The little river Lay, curled about the foot of the hill, and hugged by the wooded slopes which clung above it, caught the eye with an occasional sparkle of its shallows, for the south façade of the house, dominating the slightly sloping garden, owned a bolder prospect than many in the province. On the other side, indeed, where the avenue approached it on level ground, the topmost windows of the château showed only the characteristic Vendean expanse of view, which gave the look of a flat country to a region that was not really flat, but which had nothing to catch the eye, among the innumerable stunted trees which bordered every field, save a roof or two with its red and curving tiles. But the garden front looked down on what was almost a ravine.