We will not take the trouble of following Mademoiselle de Beaumont on her journey, which occupied that night and the two following days:--suffice it to say, that on the evening of the second day they arrived in the beautiful neighbourhood of Château du Loir. The smiling slopes, covered with the first vines; the rich fruit-trees hanging actually over the road, and dropping with the latest gifts of liberal Nature; the balmy air of a warm September evening; the rosy cheeks of the peasantry; and the clear, smooth windings of the river Loir,[A] all announced that they were approaching the land of happy Touraine: and after putting her head more than once from the window, Mathurine, with a smile of pleasure, pointed forward, exclaiming, "_Voilà le Château_." [A] Not the Loire. Pauline's eyes followed to the point where the other's hand directed them; and upon a high ground, rising gently above the trees which crowned a little projecting turn of the river, she beheld a group of towers and pinnacles, with the conical-slated roofs, multifarious weathercocks, long narrow windows, one turret upon the back of another, and all the other distinctive marks of an old French château. CHAPTER XI. In which De Blenau finds that he has got the rod in his own hand, and how he uses it; together with a curious account of a tremendous combat and glorious victory. I can easily imagine myself, and I dare say the reader will not find much difficulty in fancying, that the Count de Blenau suffered not a little inquietude while he remained in uncertainty respecting Pauline's free exit from the Bastille. Take and draw him, as Sterne did his captive. See him walking up and down the chamber with the anxiety of doubt upon his brow and in his heart, listening for every sound in the court-yard, catching the footstep of the sentinel at his door, and fancying it the return of the Governor,--hope struggling against fear, and fear remaining victor,--conjuring up a thousand wild, improbable events, and missing the true one; and, in short, making his bosom a _hell_ wherein to torment his own heart. Thus did Claude de Blenau, during that lapse of time which the Governor might reasonably be supposed to be occupied in the duties of his office. But when a longer time passed, and still no news arrived of Pauline's escape, the uncertainty became too great for mortal endurance; and he was about to risk all, by descending into the court through the turret, when the challenge of the sentinel announced the approach of some one, and in the next moment the Governor entered the room, his pale features flushed with anger, and his lip quivering with ill-subdued rage.