It was situated in the midst of a wild game park, not unlike that of Vincennes, only that the ground was more irregular. The building, however, was very different: it had been erected by that Count de Clairvaut who had been sent ambassador in the reign of Henry II. to the Republic of Venice. He had formed his ideas of beauty in architecture under another sky, and, but that it was somewhat larger and heavier, it might have been supposed that the building had been transported by some Geni from the banks of the Brenta. There was a strong old castellated gate, however, in the walls of the park, which had belonged to some former building. But the heavy iron gates were wide open, and the voice of no porter responded to the call of the young Count and his companions. Still, however, he saw a light in the windows of the château, and he eagerly rode on along the path which conducted to the principal gates of the building. Here there was a wide flight of marble stairs, which had been brought ready polished at an immense expense from Italy, yellow and green with the damp, but still altogether of a different hue and consistence from the ordinary stone of the place. From those steps the wide forest scene beyond was fully displayed to the eye, the château being built very near the highest point of the acclivity, and the whole ground towards Dreux, Maintenon, and Chartres lying below, with the forest itself sweeping down the edge of that chain of high hills which separates the southern parts of Normandy from the northern parts and Maine. The moon at that moment was just sinking beyond the trees on the left, and poured over the woods and plains below a flood of silver light, caught and reflected here and there by some open stream or wide piece of water, and, shining full upon the front of the marble building, which, with its pillars, its capitals, and its cornices, its wide doors and spreading porticoes, looked like the spectre of some bright enchanted palace from another land. The large doors that opened upon the terrace were ajar; and Charles of Montsoreau, leaving his horse with the page, mounted the steps and knocked hard with the haft of his dagger. A long melancholy echo was all the sound that was returned. He knocked again, there was no answer; and then pushing open the door, he entered the wide marble hall. The moonlight was pouring through the tall windows, but all was solitary; and putting his foot upon the first step of the staircase, he was beginning to ascend. At that moment, he thought he heard a distant sound as of an opening door; and a ray of light, streaming down some long corridor at the top of the broad staircase, crossed the balustrade and chequered the iron work with a different hue from the moonlight. He now called loudly, asking if there was any one in the building.