“And at that moment Anna was happy. She had sighed for money, for a home handsomer than the humble red house far away among the New England hills, and lo, here was something more beautiful than anything of which she had even dreamed. If there had been anything lovable about Ernest Haverleigh, Anna might have loved him then in her great delight with the home he was bringing her to; but there was nothing in his nature answering to hers, and he did not seem to see how pleased she was, but sat back in the carriage, with a dark look on his face and a darker purpose in his heart. And still he saw her every moment, and watched the light in her eyes and the clasping of her hands as she leaned from the window; but it awoke no answering chord of gladness, unless it were a gladness that he had it in his power to avenge the insult he had received. They were close to the chateau now, directly in the shadow of the gray old walls, which looked so dark and gloomy, so out of keeping with the beauty of the grounds, that Anna’s spirits sank again, and there was a tremor in her frame as she descended from the carriage in the wide court, around which balconies ran, tier upon tier, and into which so many long, narrow windows looked. “At the head of a flight of steps an elderly woman was standing, her white hair arranged in puffs about her face, which, though old and wrinkled, was so sweet and sad in its expression that Anna felt drawn to her at once, and the court was not half so damp and dreary, or the walls so dark and high. “The woman was dressed in black silk, with a tasteful lace cap upon her head, while the bunch of keys attached to her side with a silver chain showed her to be the housekeeper, even before Mr. Haverleigh said: “‘This is Madame Verwest, the head of the house, just as Monsieur Brunell is head of the grounds. You will do well to conciliate her, and not show your dislike, if you feel it, as you did to monsieur.’ “‘Oh, I shall love her. I love her now for that sweet sorry face. Has she had some great trouble, Ernest?’ “It was the first time Anna had ever called her husband by the familiar name of Ernest. He had asked her to do so in the days of their courtship, and she had answered him, playfully: ‘Oh, Mr. Haverleigh, you are so much older than I am, and know so much more, and then—Well, to tell the truth, I am a little bit afraid of you yet, but by and by I mean to learn to say Ernest.’