Their new host brought out a stout cob from the furze near by, and led the way south-westward. After a silent ride of half a mile or more he dismounted, and, producing a lantern, carefully piloted the horses over a heap of stones overgrown with briers, probably a fallen section of wall giving entrance to the park. Then turning more to the west, they followed a sort of bridle-path leading directly into dense forest, where the fading twilight was wholly obscured and the swinging lantern afforded the only beacon to steer by. The close-growing trees impinged sharply on shins and elbows, and overhanging boughs frequently occasioned still more serious encounters. Patience and temper were nearly exhausted when a sudden glare shot out of the darkness, and the intendant pulled up before an open door whence issued a blaze of light. A man came from within to take the horses, and was introduced by the intendant as his son Emile and the heir to his office. Emile had the same serious and reserved manner as his father, but he showed more cordiality. He apologized for the poor appearance of the place, saying it had never been more than a keeper's lodge, but that he had endeavored to make it comfortable for them. The door opened immediately into a good-sized square room, with a wide fireplace occupying half the farther side, having a great fire of logs and branches burning on the hearth. In the middle of the floor stood a solid old oak table, whereon smoked a most inviting supper, served in an incongruous array of quaint and curious dishes and antique vessels--fine glass, splendid silver, broken delft, and translucent porcelain that drew a cry of admiration from the delighted artists. The intendant thawed out rapidly, warmed by the generous supper and perhaps an extra sip or two of rare old Beaujolais. Allowing himself to be prompted by M. Gambeau junior, he entertained his guests with many a tradition of the Courance family--their heroism in war, their wisdom in peace, their conspicuous splendor at court, their kindness and liberality at home. As to the chateau and its contents, he knew very little. It stood just as it had been left, with all the appointments of a noble household and a full retinue, but he had never been through the rooms to examine them, and now only entered the place twice a year to go through the form of putting in order the private apartments of the last count, who had given orders that his rooms should be kept ready for his return. There were pictures--yes, a great many pictures--but all black, and some falling from the frames: those in the count's rooms were kept clean, however, and were very pretty--truly, very fine.