"All the sky-lines of this beautiful building are perfect, and the entire upper part looks indeed like a 'new house,' so bright and fair does it remain. But the lower stories and the adjoining grounds tell the story of desertion and decay. Over, around and through the entire demesne climbs and twines and trails the veiling vegetation of a hundred years, filling the arched doorways, screening the windows, hanging from the parapets, and covering the pavements with a disguise of greenery, like a masque half hiding the face of a court beauty." Finishing his sketch, Perry was about to run up the marble steps, but the intendant detained him, politely but decidedly stating that this could not be permitted. "When M. le Comte descended those steps he commanded that human creature should rest not the foot there until his return. And no person has ever passed there, unless, possibly, himself." "How himself? Has he ever returned, then?" "Who knows? I have never seen him, at least; and I have no envy for that, comprehend well. When one sees him 'tis time to make one's peace; and I hope my time has not yet come." "This becomes interesting. There is a tradition, is there not?" "One says it. When I was a child my grandfather came home from here one day very sad, very silent, gave his keys to my father, sent for the cure. Behold, the end! What one said was that he had seen M. le Comte. Also, my father. It is twenty-two years last day of Our Lady since he returned home from here, cold, white and trembling, and put himself to arrange his affairs. He said he was not ill, but the terrible whisper again agitated itself--'He has seen M. le Comte!' He went to rest as usual, and rose not again. Bah! this is not agreeable, all this. Let us go to the house." Skirting the courtyards, the intendant led the way to the rear of the chateau, passing between the moat and the grim old walls of the mediaeval towers. Here the work of time was found to be more noticeable: the gardens showed a strange confusion of fine and rare vegetation run wild, mingled with intruding native growths; many of the wooden buildings, formerly the offices of the household, had fallen to the ground; and the chapel, an offset from the "new house," was partly in ruins. Lighting his lantern, M. Gambeau descended a narrow passage leading to the cellars. The exploration of the interior may be narrated in the words of the adventurers: "It was very dark, and at first we could see nothing, but presently the glimmer of the dim lantern disclosed vast pillars and low arches of rough, unhewn stone, and in the aisles rows of casks shrouded with cobwebs and half buried in dust. "'These are the wine-vaults,' said M. Gambeau, endeavoring to throw light into the black recesses of the crypts on either hand.