Poor Pierrot was conscience-stricken, and heartily wished his tongue had been cut out before it had run away from his discretion on the preceding evening; but he kept his own counsel, and Jacques Beaupré had too much of the laquais' spirit about him to tell of a companion before he was found out. The day was dull and gray, but not actually raining, and the road was muddy and heavy to travel; but the forest was soon passed, and at the end of two hours Edward judged, by the descriptions he had received, that he was entering the vale of Chevreuse. Hidden in a dense shroud of mist, it did not indeed look beautiful to his eyes, as he had been led to believe; and, in some doubt, he stopped to ask a peasant, whom they overtook driving an ox-cart, if the Chateau of Dampierre was near. "Why, there it is, seigneur," said the man. "Dame! don't you see it?" And, looking forward, Edward caught a faint sight of some towers and pinnacles rising over the distant trees. CHAPTER XXV. Two large gates of that fine hammered iron which is now rarely seen, twisted into leaves and flowers and coronets, with gilding here and there, and the arms of Chevreuse and Montbazon let into the centre, shut the small park of Dampierre from the road. They seemed indeed to offer no ingress to any one, for Edward rang the great bell at least half a dozen times before any one appeared; but then a man walked slowly down the road from the chateau itself, and examined the strangers through the filagree-work of the gate as he came. At neither of the two lodges at the sides of the gate was there the least sign of life. The man, who seemed an old servant, however, and who carried a large key in his hand, applied it to the lock without asking any questions, and Edward, before entering, inquired if Madame de Chevreuse was at the chateau. "I do not know," replied the servant, in an indifferent tone. "A good many people rode away the day before yesterday, and I have not seen her since; but, if you ride up, they will tell you there."