"Not any, monsieur. He married a very pretty young lady, a poor relation, much too young for him. It resembled a love marriage on his part, but his conduct didn't show it; for he was neither more cheerful, nor more approachable, nor more amiable after it. He made no change in his way of living like a bear, saving the respect I owe him. Monsieur Antoine continued to be almost the only intimate friend of the house, and madame was so bored there that one day she went to Paris to live, and her husband never thought of joining her there or of bringing her back. She died when she was still very young, without bearing him any children, and since then, whether because a secret grief has turned his brain, or because the pleasure of being alone consoles him for everything, he has lived absolutely secluded in his château, with no companion, not even a poor dog. His family is almost extinct, he is not known to have any heirs or any friends; so no one can imagine who will be enriched by his death." "Evidently, he's a monomaniac," said Emile. "What's that?" queried the carpenter. "I mean that his mind is absorbed by a fixed idea." "Yes, I believe that you are right; but what is that idea? that is what no one can say. He is known to have only one attachment. That is for the park you see yonder, which he laid out and planted himself, and which he almost never leaves. Indeed I think he sleeps there, on his feet, walking about; for he has been seen walking in the paths like a ghost at two o'clock in the morning, and he frightened some people who had crept in there to purloin a little fruit or firewood." As they had reached a point opposite the park, and from the high path they were following could look over into it and see a part of it, Emile was charmed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, the magnificence of the trees, the happy arrangement of the shrubbery, the freshness of the turf and the graceful shape of the different levels, which descended gradually to the bank of a small stream, one of the bubbling affluents of the Gargilesse. He thought that no idiot could have created that species of earthly paradise and turned the charms of nature to account so successfully. It seemed to him, on the contrary, that a poetic mind must have guided that arrangement; but the aspect of the château soon gave the lie to these conjectures. One can imagine nothing uglier, colder, more unpleasant to the eye than the manor-house of Boisguilbault. Additions to the original structure had deprived it of something of its antique character, and the excellent state of repair in which it was kept made its surroundings all the more repellent.