The Chataigneraie E-Book

Max du Veuzit

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 306

Beschreibung

After the death of the Count of Borel, his wife and daughter Solange had to leave - fifteen years ago - the magnificent Domaine de la Châtaigneraie. A serious disagreement had separated the parents of the little girl at the time. His mother remains wounded.... James Spinder, a rather mysterious buyer, is now the master of the castle. Solange manages one day to get into the Chestnut grove, gleaning memories... Mr. Spinder welcomed the girl with kindness. He even gave her an intimate notebook from his father. Some kind of confession.... Solange discovers that a host of Mr. Spinder, the seductive Maurice de Rouvalois, is the last one who saw the Count of Borel alive. Why was Maurice hiding this meeting from Solange, who was very fond of him? Did he make a promise to the Count of Borel? Disoriented, in love, unhappy but determined, Solange doubts her father's death and swears to know the whole truth...

Leseprobe

The Chataigneraie

Pages de titreFirst PartSecond PartCopyright

The Chataigneraie

Max du Veuzit

Max the Veuzit is the pen name of Alphonsine Zéphirine Vavasseur, born in Petit-Quevilly 29 October 1876 and died in Bois-Colombes 15 April 1952. It is a French language writer, author of numerous romance novels with great success.

First Part

April 4th.

I leave forever the convent this morning.

Joy happiness !

The nuns made me farewell, his eyes filled with tears ...

Yvonne of Boussu said, "Chic! in you're lucky! I still fifteen months stay here, me! "

Martha Charmin blew me ear: "Good luck! Try to quickly find a husband and invite me to your wedding ... "

Lucy Kabd said, kissing me: "What we will get bored here without you! What a bad luck, when in a hand! "

Finally, Suzanne Vouzon my preferably, I bid farewell, sobbing: "You write to me often say ...?"

I promised...

And despite my joy of escape, it made me something to leave them, those four!

April 6th.

Finally free !

I am the Turrets since yesterday from my dear mother and our good old Felicie.

A great silence reigns in the house ... always the same painful silence that impressed me so much when I was little.

Our walls hide tears, sighs and regrets.

My mother, eternally dressed in black, guard, not only in his heart but also on his face, his voice, his gestures, in his clothes, mourning the beloved husband who died at sea after four years of cloudless happiness, whereas all young mother, who barely reached the age of twenty-three, everything in life seemed to respond to his smiles, his wishes ...

There are fifteen years ago!

The days, months, years have passed; in the mansion silent mirth did not return ...

April 7th.

I took this morning three resolutions: shake the shadow of the past, awaken the sleeping house, and more difficult perhaps, but certainly more sweet smile to my mother!

8th April.

My name ? Solange Borel.

My age ? Eighteen years.

My portrait ? Tall, thin and blond. crazy hair, a fair complexion, weird eyes ... like hazelnuts.

Perfectly, my eyes color of ripe hazelnuts or old burnished gold. We talked about it enough, pension!

April 9th.

The Turrets is the name of the small area where my mother was born.

A park, a square house, flanked by four tall turrets slate roofs, a vegetable garden and pasture, are the Turrets.

In the park, there is an arbor where we discover the surrounding valley. This is my favorite place.

In the house, there is a delightful little room pompadour. It's mine.

And in the grass take their antics great spirited horse and a lovely bay mare is usually splint, but I'll learn to ride.

So, for now, my three kingdoms.

April 11.

Taken today, my first riding lesson.

He is the son of our former manager - because we were very rich once - giving me lessons.

His name is Bernard Savage and about forty-five. He is a former sergeant rehired and peppering his conversation sounding consonants like drumming.

- At ... t ... tention! You are going t ... t ... fall!

My mother in him unlimited confidence. As she does not want me to leave alone or that I remain constantly shut the turrets, and, on the other hand, it can not and will not follow me, she asked Wild kindly accompany me.

He lives alone, a few modest rents, in a small house on the other side of the valley, in the woods.

At the call of my mother, he ran, proud, beaming with confidence the mission she gave him.

Oh ! the right look of devoted dog which he enveloped me when I told him, reviving knowledge, a good handshake:

- Wild, I'm glad to have you walk companions: are we going to do excursions, both!

- Oh ! miss, it is I who am happy ... so happy! Ms. Borel did not doubt all the happiness that it causes me!

The good man was so upset that I saw her eyes fill with tears ...

I was much moved by this silent emotion.

My old Wild, you do not suspect what she experienced spontaneous sympathy for you, the "little lady" who serve you monitor ...

April 13th.

This morning received a very affectionate letter from Suzanne me pompously announcing that religious, conforming to the progress that puts the sport in all, tied a gym teacher at the board,

These ladies are "torso". Congratulations!

I am "the horse". Rebravo!

14th April.

Things are going well. I start very well stand on Mascot.

18th April.

My teacher was amazed! He says I'm an accomplished horsewoman and tomorrow we will do a first ride out of the park.

I'm so glad!

19th April.

This morning, flushed with pleasure, I left the turrets on horseback.

My mother, the brow, looked at me from. She fears as my inexperience know Mascot retain the passage of any car or some noisy car!

- All right, Bernard?

- Very well miss. Looks like you spent your whole childhood on horseback.

I am very proud ! Yet, deep down, I admit that I'm only half reassured when Mascot stands ears and I feel it tremble under me, taking an impatient need to run a gallop. The presence at his side of my Lord, the horse rises Bernard seems to electrify.

- Not so fast, miss! Get used to the first road and the comings and goings of cars.

It's not me that Savage would say this, but in Mascotte!

25th April.

Now we make long rides on horseback. Sometimes we went to Thierville, the chief town of Canton, sixteen kilometers round trip.

It was a delightful time; the sky was blue, the birds sang by making their nests, trees full of flowers such large pink and white bouquets, contrasted with the delicate green of the leaves in April. Everything was gay in nature that shield the revival ... There was yet melancholy in my soul!

I was part cheerful and carefree, like every day. Beside me, Savage showed the same serenity. But a painful past we would touch his shadow.

All it took was a simple word to attract and revive it, because the words escape, multiply, become sentences arouse thoughts ... memories that hurt ...

We descended the valley and up again, to the east by a large shaded road through the woods.

- It's delicious, here! I cried. What is the name that corner, Bernard?

He looked a little surprised.

- We cross the Chataigneraie, at this moment, miss, simply said he to me.

The Chataigneraie!

This name suddenly awakened in me confused memories.

- It was the property of my father, is not it ... I asked, a little embarrassed at not having known or guessed that, though, I would have had so for free.

- Lady! He said in reply, in a tone a bit gruff.

He avoided looking at me and, as if this had displeased him, he began to whistle.

I remained pensive. A lot of memories assailed me suddenly that, though, I had hardly thought before.

- The Chataigneraie ... my father!

As these two names were returning from far to my mind! Around me, one spoke them, if ever.

My father ! The Chataigneraie!

I knew the great castle had belonged to my family and we had ceased to live after the death of my father.

The subject was sad, but already very far. Time had passed, bringing new images in my brain child ... in short, a kind of voluntary forgetfulness drowning shadow the memory of my father and of the field that belonged to us.

But fate takes us. The hand of chance rested heavily on my shoulder and startled me by that name almost forgotten and rather tasteless to me: The Chataigneraie.

From the bottom of my childhood, a host of reminiscences suddenly rose to the surface, raising an impulsive and unexpected need to talk to them.

This was too much for me to turn to my companion and ask, without suspecting that my questions were unusual unleash a storm in my life so far so calm maiden high cosily by a very good mother.

- You knew my father, you, Bernard?

- Yes, he said tersely.

As he looked at me, almost hostile, I added, vaguely embarrassed:

- You know, at home, we do not talk about. This would make even sadder still mourning my poor mom.

- We're not talking about your father? if he exclaimed secretly giving a blow of brutal whip in his horse.

- Never, I asserted, seizure of its violence. This is a subject that it is not necessary to mention ... a subject that seems almost forbids me in my mother's melancholy.

- But, Felicie?

- Felicia does not respond when asked.

- The old bitch! he said between his teeth.

- Oh ! you do not like Felicie? I exclaimed in surprise. That's a good girl, though!

- Yes ... it's a good woman ... but she is too devoted to her mistress that makes unfair and bad for others!

- You're never too devoted to those we love, I replied softly.

- Yes, sometimes ... When the dedication flatters you marry hatreds and resentments of those for whom it is exercised.

I opened my eyes in astonishment.

- I do not understand why you say that about Felicie.

He gave a new whip to his horse.

- I'm an old fool who deserves the name of Wild that I inherited my father! Your Felicie is a saint! Forget what I said about him, miss. I should have kept my tongue for a less bad cause.

His face was hard and violent as ever, yet, it seemed to me. Something in me, however, was moved. It seemed that the violence did not concern me, on the contrary!

I did put my horse against his and pushed by some unknown ruler subconscious:

- Bernard, my good Bernard, I whispered, do not get angry. If you knew how much it seems good to talk with you ... especially the past ... and seriously, yet! At home, I'm always the child ... the child! Flowers, birds, my brushes, my books and toilets, are the only things it maintains to me ... Also, if my words awaken in you, sometimes, bad memories, do not be angry, Bernard I say without intending to do you trouble.

The face of my companion flushed.

- You are too good, miss, to move you to an old bear like me. They are right who speak of you flowers and butterflies ... Smile, your lips and eyes are made to know joy.

- Why then me tell you this so dismally? Do not turn your head ... Bernard, look at me ...

He raised towards mine moved a good look that made me feel good after violence earlier.

- Ah! if you knew how much I am devoted to you, you ... you, the daughter of Mr. Frédéric!

I leaned toward him and pressed his hand with force.

- You loved my father a lot? I asked with a heavy heart, because I felt that, despite the years, this man had kept very precise memory, whereas in the Turrets there seemed never want to think the dear departed.

- I loved him like a god, Wild said dully. I had played with him a little boy. The regiment and then to the front, I did not leave. Later, I was still at the castle with him ... He trusted me, that's all!

He blew his nose noisily to hide the emotion that contorted his face; then, after a pause, he continued in the same tone that seemed veiled stir sacred memories:

- He was a man so charming, so kind ... too charming and too kind even ... These are qualities that make mistakes, sometimes the best, and it pays dearly!

- Yes, I understand that Dad had ruined.

- Ruined! if he exclaimed.

- Yes, ruined! I replied simply, without emotion, because it was so far away that I do not suffer.

Not having known the real wealth, I could move me to a ruin that affected me after the fact.

I continued:

- Dad had lost most of his fortune when he went the distance, trying to regain ... Alas! there found the death. Poor father!

- The death ! You said death? Thunder! Does her daughter who speaks of death?

I jumped, not expecting such an exclamation as I just evoked the premature termination of my father.

He jumped in the saddle, and now seized with a sudden rage, Bernard Savage twirled his whip in space, to the branches of trees that formed roof over our heads. And the leaves fell, jagged, after dry Ping had decapitated.

Amazed at this fury crisis that upset him, I stopped my horse and I looked at him blankly, trying to explain his attitude. Why he protested so vehemently when I spoke of my father's death?

- Bernard, calm down! calm down ! My God ! what have you? What have I said?

He was slow to hear.

When he turned to me, I heard her poor face all contracted.

But, recovering himself from view, he tried to apologize and he did so clumsily that he seemed to want to deceive on the words that had escaped him.

- Excuse me, miss Solange. I am an old fool that words are jumping ... It's over, forget it! In Africa, it was hot head and brains exalt easily ... I went out there and unfortunately I have reported the habit of putting me easily angered.

I nodded thoughtfully.

- But not the one to get started for nothing, I observed, not at all convinced by his explanations. These are my words that made you jump. Please explain to me why you protested when I spoke of my father's death?

His face, once again, suddenly hardens.

- It always hurts to hear things you do not expect ... things ...

He stopped himself.

- Your father was a good master, he finished, a little gruff.

He still was fleeing my eyes in embarrassment.

- No ! no ! I cried. No vain pretexts! Tell me about my father, he died ...

- But I know nothing, miss.

- If you know something ... Your anger was not natural ... Nothing explained ... and you let out ... Wild lyrics, please, tell me what you know .

- It's not for me, miss, to speak of it. Ask your mother ...

- My mother tells me nothing. One day - I was little - I wanted her to speak to me of my father ...

- So ?

- She stood up, looks painful but firm, defending me from ever approach such a subject ... What shall I tell you? His distress hit me ... I have not started.

- And Felicie?

- I asked her many times. I wanted it evokes my father ... she quotes me some scenes of her life ... her to tell me how he died.

- And you she answered?

- "Mr. died at sea ... Never speak of it to Madame: the doctor said it might kill her. "

- You had to insist, though?

- Yes, often ; but without result. Felicie knows nothing or refuses to tell me something. When I insisted too much, it was almost rude ... In the end, I ended up not refer to the past ... What good, since it wore me anything?

- A way as any to bury once again poor Mr. growled the man, who fell back into silence.

Again, I jumped.

In flash, the idea that the death of my father was hiding something mysterious through my head. So I insisted because I wanted to know; Now, I was sure that my companion was aware of facts that I was unaware.

- Bernard, you did not answer me when I begged you to tell me what you know about the tragic death of my unfortunate father. Please, talk: tell me the truth, because doubt is the worst tortures.

He was quiet and dark, a few moments, as if he had not heard me. Then, raising his head, he looked me in the face.

- You did it driving sometimes pray at the tomb of Mr. Borel?

- No, since he died in the distance ... at sea ... The yacht sank.

An ironical smile curled his lip.

- Mr. Frederick was ruined, but he still had a yacht ... and he used this expensive mode of transport to seek his fortune in the distance ... The fable does not even stand!

His remarks glared me. In a reflex hallucination, I passed my hand over my face where my ideas collided feverishly.

The point of this man was innocent. How did I not I made myself?

And my eyes widened in horror as the influx of deductions available if essential to my understanding.

My father ... my father died ... I thought that the tragic death was not suspicious ... my father, perhaps, was still alive?

There were dizziness in my brain.

But already, I glimpsed unexpected opportunities.

My father alive!

Despite the improbability of this wonderful prospect and there was there a chance in a hundred thousand it was realized, I had to look this atom of probability and try to clarify the reasons that could support him.

- Bernard, tell me again! You've said too much not to tell you more. Why do you raise a doubt about the reality of the death of my father?

- Listen, miss Solange said the man with a certain gravity. With us, the peasants have a belief: a man is not dead until he has been buried.

- But if his body disappeared?

- Why would his life disappeared at the same time?

- So I cried, the transfigured face of hope, you assume that my father is not dead? It is only that disappeared and he lives somewhere in the distance?

- Why not? ... It's not impossible!

But my elation subsided.

- It was fifteen he left, I said, shaking his head. If he was still alive ... my mother would know ... It would be income ... or we would have given his new ...

Wild shrugged:

- That's another thing! One can live without writing, without returning ...

- Come, Bernard, think ... A man does not leave his wife and child in ignorance of its existence. And they would go soon join him if there was any hope that he live again ... No, my father is dead, unfortunately ... otherwise we would not be separated from him.

But Savage continued to shake the shoulders ...

- It's not only death can separate people, he muttered between his teeth.

- You say ?

- Nothing ... I've already said too much!

- You're welcome !

- No ... Already, Ms. Borel would never forgive me if she knew I dared to raise doubts about the veracity of explanations she has given you.

- But my father if he lived bless you and you could hear.

A moisture shone in the eyes of my companion.

- Ah! Solange miss! if he exclaimed, with emotion, if you had known, like me, Mr. Frederick, surely you would want to see him again and that you would seek it.

- Oh ! Bernard, you do not doubt that I would find my father ... I did not know, or rather, I do not remember!; her memory has faded into the mists of my baby memory; but you can not know how much I missed his presence. Happy with my companions, who had their parents, I was me as a deprived. Often I turned away to hide my tears of envy or regret, when one of them in the parlor, threw herself into her father's arms to kiss and be pressed affectionately against his chest welcoming and safe.

I stopped ... scrambled my eyes beheld tears in space, my orphan childhood. Then, more softly still, I continued:

- A father is a smile that follows your steps is a warm and cheerful atmosphere around you ... an atmosphere constantly renewed and revitalized because whenever a man comes to the house seems to bring with it him all the air from the outside ... I had a loving and good mother, but I ignored the noisy and restless house, sound laughter, daring escapes, distant travel, the unexpected surprises that a father likes to organize ... All my childhood is tinted grays and silences. My mother hid her tears; his smile was gentle, caressing her voice: she would not give me his widow inconsolable grief, but our house seemed full of melancholy ... Instinctively, my steps were light and muffled my voice not to disturb the peace impressive large empty rooms.

Again, I stopped talking.

Pensive, bent forward, pressing down on my saddle, I forgot the beautiful landscape that stretched out at my feet, with, in the background, tall forests of Chestnut Grove pitched skyward.

At one point, my hand mechanically stroked the neck of Mascot, and the beast, stimulated by this caress, snorted and took a long trot.

Awakened by his appearance, I reconnected with the present.

- Oh ! Bernard, I say, see my father would be my dearest wishes, but is it not madness to allow such a hope to enter me?

- The soul is for hope, he said sententiously.

- But is it reasonable to expect something impossible?

- Before you say that something can not be done, we must first try to see if it is really impossible. What prevents you from searching Mr. Frederick?

- Search father? Oh ! this is understood, I will neglect nothing to get to him, living or dead ... But I find?

The man smiled without answering and his eyes, which plunged into mine, seemed to me screaming madly so. A hot flush rose of hope from my heart to my cheeks, without, however, nothing tangible had supported the insane hope that my companion had just born in me.

Speaking, we completed our walk and we were back to the Turrets.

In front of the porch, Wild jumped down from his horse and came to give me a hand to get off.

- The motto is silence, is not it? he said softly, with a prayer in his eyes.

I flinched.

- Yes, but alliance! I replied in the same tone after a moment's hesitation. We are allies, this is how it is meant, I insisted, my eyes riveted to his.

- Thank you, 'he said, pleased. I did not dare to propose it; Also, thank you twice!

I left him and climbed up to my room to change costume.

A surprise was in me. I do not quite understand how I could so easily adopt the suggestions of the old soldier. I was not less surprised to have accepted this silence he imposed on me and even more to have it responded spontaneously by this unusual alliance.

What need of conspiracy therefore had instinctively possessed me? And against that, this silence and this alliance?

Against my mother?

Ah! God ! no ! I loved my mother and the thought of doing something that displeased him did not fit me.

Against the fear of disturbing the peace and tranquility? Yes ? It was more the reason that so imperiously, made me accept the defense to speak of Bernard and ask his help.

And this certainty that I would work for the happiness of my mother, looking for traces of the husband she was still crying, was flying all my hesitations.

Besides, I felt light, transfigured. It seemed to me that a resurrection had taken place in me.

My father ! my father alive, perhaps! The wild hope! The wonderful prospect! This was prodigious!

A miracle had, indeed, been accomplished. And what a miracle!

It was enough of a magical word of hope to awaken in me the sacred memory of my father who was buried for fifteen years!

April 27th

The rain falls continuously for two days and I have not seen Bernard from afar, when he comes to visit my lord and mascot, he has become accustomed, now, to come to see every morning.

In my head vehemently agitate questions: joyful ringing irrational hopes, funeral knell desperate realities.

How my mother could she tell me about the death of my father, if it had not acquired absolute certainty?

Oh ! the ugly voices of inevitable disappointment!

April 29th.

Still the rain! ...

Still Doubt ... Sometimes, however, hope shines.

deafening bells that, night and day, resonate in me, when did you stop your frantic sarabande?

As I look forward to act ...

30 April.

I long held this morning in my mother's room.

For the first time, his painful attitude appeared to me in all its desolation.

She barely thirty-eight years, my dear mother, and yet her hair already graying. The face is still young. But the expression is so tired, so disillusioned! And that smile so sad and dreary; this monotonous voice that nothing seems more having to animate; the pensive eyes wandering, watching without seeing and seem to keep between their drooping lashes, badly wiped tears ...

As she had to suffer to get to and not to personify melancholy as hopeless.

Twenty times I was to tell him about my father, to ask for explanations, details; but, in time, I remembered the recommendation of Felicie:

"The doctor said it could kill her. "

And not to succumb to the temptation to ask him, I ran to my room.

June 1st.

I went, sometimes, find our old nurse, in her kitchen, where she was preparing lunch.

Oh ! with this, I do not have to take caution.

And though expecting to hear him growl, I bravely said:

- Felicie, I searched all over the house the portrait of my father to put him in my room. Perhaps I saw no guessing; could you not tell me?

The old woman did not expect my questions.

Trembling and bewildered, she looked at me suddenly, like I mentioned Satan and his infernal court.

- Oh ! miss! I beg you, do not talk about that! How can you ask such a thing?

- Is it not natural that a girl has the desire to possess the image of his father?

- But, madam! Madam! ... Do not you think of your mother?

My air seemed decided the buffet and I was moved, in spite of myself, to see her so upset.

- My mother can not find bad that I want to have in my house, the portrait of my father next to him. If you refuse to give it to me or me to indicate, Felicie, I address itself and I'm sure she will not refuse me.

My words put her out of her. Forgetting his functions and ways she had me, she walked towards me menacingly.

- Yes that's it ! go kill awakening in her terrible memories! Do you think it is for my pleasure that I avoid talking about the past and things so sweet of old? But I saw your mother dying in my arms and writhing in fever while his mouth unconsciously repeated the name of your father ... her husband! Do not you understand that if I snatched from death, if I kept you at the cost of continual monitoring by removing everything that could remind him of the disaster which had sunk his happiness ? ... Go talk to her, now that she is allowed to live almost undisturbed. Go break the fragile peace! This is indeed a work of filial piety to fill ... Besides, she added, I must warn you that what you will say and do anything to advance. There is no longer in the house no picture, no memory of your father; everything was torn and burned by me. Look, but you will not find anything! nothing !

Broken by this mad rage, the old Felicie had fallen on a chair, sobbing.

I looked at her, annihilated, but relatively little moved.

The same violence and exaggeration of its criticisms made me suddenly regain my composure, and I considered, for the moment, with a cold eye.

At the same time, Bernard's words came back to my memory:

"There devotions who harm those who are its object. "

Felicie had to admit that it was herself who had around my mother this hard oblivion silence about my father.

And suddenly, despite his long years of service, despite his commitment, his poodle loyalty, it seemed to me the enemy, one that was perhaps because of the painful condition of my mother; which was responsible for the removal of my father, really, as Savage had let me hear, it was not dead.

Despite myself, my fists clenched in an intimate violence, unknown until then.

I stepped toward the door, away from the woman to escape the mad temptation to take me to throw myself on her and force her to confess what evil role she had played once in the life of my parents.

Without a word, feeling very pale, I left the kitchen and went upstairs to my room.

I thought I was very calm, very resolved, but the door fallen behind me, there was such a relaxing my nerves. Rage, disappointment, bitterness, despair, all my being capsized and tended my nerves.

I felt very weak, my throat contracted; around me I saw whirling objects and, suddenly overcome, dizzy taken, I fell heavily at full length on the carpet.

When I came to, a minute later, I was lying on my bed with my mother and Felicie rushing to my bedside.

- My daughter ! my Solange! What did you have ?

In the dear maternal eyes, I read a boundless anxiety.

And despite my weakness, feeling strong beside her, I smiled reassuringly.

- It's nothing, mother ... This rain, is not it ... But it's past, it's over?.

Yet as backlash, heavy like crying took me.

Timidly, with hangdog air, Felicie handed me a glass of sugared water that I pushed.

- Thank you, I want nothing.

And I burst into convulsive sobs.

Dismayed, Felicie stood before my bed, while my mother drew me into his arms and rocked me with gentle words.

My tears crisis lasted a short time, fortunately, and soon I was able to get up and fix the mess of my toilet.

Seeing me better, my mother had left the room. Felicie, instead, under the pretext of my bed again, stayed with me.

- ask your pardon, miss Solange, if these are my words that made you trouble. I love your mother and thinking you could, unwittingly hurt her made me say harsh things, which I regret now.

I turned to the poor old woman who was standing in a humble attitude and if a repentant momentum pity made me shake hands with him.

- Forget it, Felicie. I do not like my mother least you can love and if I threatened you to question, without having the idea to do this is that I felt that you did not want to answer.

- Why bother bother you with all these things that are dead?

- I wanted to have it ... you know ... I really thought it was from you ill will.

- No, I tell you that everything has been destroyed, and that there is nothing ... that gentleman.

I sat up abruptly head.

- From my father, you mean!

Hardness, again, going in my cold eyes.

- You are mistaken, I said. There is something for him that no one can ever destroy.

- What ? she asked, astonished.

- My heart ! the heart of his daughter! I replied with a kind of furious pride by pushing the door.

She looked at me long with dismay. Then she left the room, shaking his head as if my too clear statement it appeared to be the delirium of an insane hence would result many misfortunes.

June 5

Finally, the sun was shining this morning! When Wild went to visit my lord and mascot, I called him from my window as if he could dedicate myself the morning I was ready to make a long ride in the countryside.

- I am at your service, miss, he said. I'll saddle the horses immediately.

Ten minutes after we left the Turrets.

- Which way do we go? asked Bernard.

- Towards the Chataigneraie, will you? You need to know; I do not know. Take me to the area where my father was born.

Without a word, the old soldier made us turn to the right, and when we reached the end of the village, he showed me the last houses.

- From there begins the land of chestnut; from wood, there, to the river.

- Who is it that holds them?

- The Raimbond.

- This name is unknown to me.

- These are new farmers ... The Vincent, who farmed them for so long, he died a few years ago.

- But the land is still attached to the field?

- Still ... There's nothing changed except the side of Neuville, where twenty hectares were sold to Baron Jacob your father ... before his departure.

- Jewish, is not it, that Baron Jacob?

- Yes.

- What is he doing ?

- He set up a factory ... a cotton factory.

- I heard about it ... But tell me, the new owner of Chestnut Grove, it's me Piedmont, former notary father?

- That's what everybody says.

- Would not that right?

- We'll see ... What is certain is that it is he who touches revenues.

- He does not live Chataigneraie?

- There is chasing the winter and spend several weeks in the summer.

- So, it is the proud owner him, now!

- He takes the air ... However, one could point out many things.

- Which?

- It usually lives a wing of the castle and all the rest of the vast house was held severely closed.

- Even when he's here?

- Always.

- Well, why?

- He said the rooms are uninhabitable and should be a lot of money to fix it all.

- Maybe he's right ... My poor father, in the last time, will not maintain state while.

- I can tell you the contrary Frédéric has always held the hand that everything is put in order and repair. I have read often inside the castle and it was beautifully cared for a real museum!

I thanked the light of what I took to be a white lie.

- Finally, the notary has his reasons ... everyone is free home.

- Obviously! Although we do not have such a property - especially when one is a businessman ... that is to say money! - to live six weeks a year and leave it in the state of abandonment in which it is located.

- Ah! I said sadly, everything is abandoned?

- I believe you ! Look, we're getting there. I made you take from behind ... There is a gap in the wall ... I know very well the place ... our mounts easily pass it.

- But you are not going into it?

- Why not ? I often go!

- If someone saw us there?

- And what do you want it to do? It's Mathieu Savalle, the gamekeeper, who has the keys. It monitors the castle and the woods so we do devastates anything; but I can assure you it will not tell us if he meets there. On the contrary !

- It served my father, too, that one?

- No, miss. It was his late brother who was a guard at home once. But it's the same thing: from father to son, they are former slaves who lived in the shadow of the castle. But here the gap ... I'll go first to show you the way ... Hop! this is it! ... your turn. Stand firm and remove Mascot! Congratulations! Here is a beautiful jump! ... And now, follow me ... Warning! this branch tear your scarf ... Finally, here is the avenue.

We had, in fact, entering a wide avenue that grass and moss had completely invaded. She kept no no trace; no human foot was to have traveled for a long time.

Inexpressible feeling of fear and joy filled me then, and I think if I had been alone I would have started crying with emotion.

- Bernard, I said softly, - as a sort of religious modesty prevented me from speaking up in these populated places ancestral memories - my father once, often had to walk that aisle?

- Yes Miss. Even I remember ... when he was little ... here, take ... he had escaped the supervision of his tutor, a priest who knew brave blind eye when necessary. We were a bunch of kids and we played in the war. It was Mr. Frederic our general ... As it was skull and fiery! He led us and we would have followed the end of the world. Oh ! if you could see ...

He put his hand to his wet eyes and wiped his fingertips.

- Must apologize. You see, miss, I was! ... It does not forget such things. It is the past that is dear to the heart.

I could not answer because a poignant emotion gripped my throat.

I felt that I was walking in a cemetery ... The tombs, these were the silent and abandoned trees ...

The ghosts were the memories of my father that this man evoked with tears in her voice ... The dead, it was the past, all the beings who were my blood and I barely knew the name and let alone the story ...

After twenty minutes of marching, we emerged into the park itself.

The grass was high and the lawn filled with nettles and thistles. Wilted flowers crowded, stifling the green shoots; bushes disappeared under brambles; groves were impenetrable. All showed me a total abandonment that really hurt me.

- There are fifteen no gardener has touched this park, explained Bernard.

- But why, why they left him in a state of desolation?

My companion nodded thoughtfully.

- Things often reflect the thoughts of men, he murmured, as if speaking to himself. There are fifteen, everything was beautiful, brilliant ... the groomed fairways, manicured talons and massive shorn! ... The castle and the park shone a thousand lights in the evening, because the parties succeeded each at will ... the love and youth that united your parents, children and the future you personify, all shone here ... Then the storm came. He broke and twisted hearts ... No more smiles when the tears come. No more flowers when born brambles. Now is the abandonment and grief ... it's the image of your mom ... sorry that the painful and enigmatic absence of Mr. Frédéric ... it's yours, poor flower greenhouse we can not uproot and which, in spite of you,

- But the notary would not have done that! He did not have to worry about the misfortunes that have befallen us and did not reach. By buying this house, he did not take to his account the concerns of its previous owners and had not stigmatize forever the pain that my poor parents have felt then.

- So he is not master of this castle ... ruler of the talk to his liking.

I brought my hand to my fevered burning forehead where thoughts rattled bang.

- If it was true ? Who will tell me? ...

And, turning to him rather abruptly, I pleaded with excitement:

- Finally, Savage, you should know you. I was three years old; but you...

- I was twenty-eight miss.

- Exactly ! You must remember.

- I have not forgotten.

- Well ?

- The Chataigneraie was for sale, in pieces. Red posters were affixed ... Lands currently Baron Jacob were sold him first ... then the sale of the rest came ... the date and time fixed ...

- So ?