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A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a

round room, in one of the chateau's four extinguisher-topped

towers. A small lofty room, with its window wide open, and the

wooden jalousie-blinds closed, so that the dark night only showed

in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with their broad

lines of stone colour.

"My nephew," said the Marquis, glancing at the supper

preparation; "they said he was not arrived."

Nor was he; but, he had been expected with Monseigneur.

"Ah! It is not probable he will arrive to-night; nevertheless,

leave the table as it is. I shall be ready in a quarter of an

hour."

In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and sat down alone

to his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair was opposite to the

window, and he had taken his soup, and was raising his glass of

Bordeaux to his lips, when he put it down.

"What is that?" he calmly asked, looking with attention at the

horizontal lines of black and stone colour.

"Monseigneur? That?"