If their eyes fell by chance on the peaceful old man, it was to glance a slight sarcasm, which, coupled with the conversation, might, they thought, pass unnoticed by him who was the object of it; not that these young persons were habitually impolite, and possessed no goodness of heart; but the occasion itself, the journey, the preparation for breakfast, their meeting, the smiles which commenced with the events of the day, all led to an unseasonable gayety, an infectious spirit of ridicule, which rendered them relentless to the poor victim whom chance had thrown in their path. The doctor appeared to eat tranquilly, without raising his eyes, without even seeming to listen, or uttering a word; they began to treat him as one deaf and dumb, and the breakfast was finished without restraint. When they rose from the table Doctor Barnabé stepped back a little, allowing each gentleman to choose the lady he wished to escort to the parlor. One being left alone he timidly advanced and offered her, not his arm, but his hand. The young lady’s fingers were scarcely grazed by those of the doctor, who, with an inclination of respect, proceeded with measured steps to the parlor. New smiles awaited this entrance, but no frown was seen on the old man’s brow, and they now declared him blind as well as deaf and dumb. Dr. Barnabé, leaving his partner, sought the smallest and plainest chair in the room. He drew it apart from the rest of the party, seated himself, placed his cane between his knees, crossed his hands upon the pommel of the cane, and leaned his chin on his hands. He remained silent in this meditative posture, and from time to time closed his eyes, as though a sweet sleep which he neither courted nor shunned was about to overcome him. “Madame de Moncar,” said one of the party, “you surely do not intend to reside among these ruins?” “No, indeed, that is not my intention; but here are tall trees and dense forests. M. de Moncar might easily be tempted to pass some months here in the game season.” “But then you would have to pull down, rebuild, and clear away.” “Come, we will think of a plan,” said the countess, “let us go out and trace the future garden of my domains.” The pleasure party, however, seemed doomed to ill luck. At that moment a heavy cloud burst overhead, and a fine thick rain beginning to fall, it was impossible for them to go out of doors. “Gracious! what are we to do?” said Madame de Moncar, “our horses need several hours rest—it will evidently rain for some time—the grass is so wet that we cannot walk a step for a week—the wires of the piano are all broken—there is not a book to be obtained for miles round, and this parlor is as chilly and gloomy as death. What will become of us?”