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Page 15 text:
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H [O xT T L TY COPA DE ORO YY NY Ny) Why a) RO | The Mystery of the Old Chateau Passing alone the Rue de Chapelle, the main street of the quaint little Village of Sans Souci, one of the picturesque towns of sunny France. into whose humble simplicity and sweet seclusion the ever-increasing stream of tourists has not yet broken, out into the wind ing country road, slowly strolled a young Knelishman. Gn and on he walked, his eyes fixed upon the distant horizon, seemingly oblivious of his surroundings. Ordinarily,
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Page 16 text:
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Cora a person with a truly artistic apprecia- tion of the beautiful would have reveled in the rural scenes that would meet his enchanted eyes along the road. But, although the young English artist, for so he was, had strolled thus far into the country for the express purpose of filling his mind with several charm- ing little scenes of southern France, he was engaged in the truly horrifying task of reviewing his most limited French vocabulary in anticipation of an = ap- proaching conversation with the land- lord of the inn, in which he was residing, the result of which interview would be satisfactory or otherwise, according to his lucky choice of words and phrases. This accounts for the fact that he had strolled about three miles from the village of Sans Souci before he realized what he was doing. In the distance all that could be-seen of the town was a subdued blur of cottages with the spire of the old Catholic church of Saint Pierre rising above them, its golden cross catching the gleams of morning sunlight as it tipped the spire. Now alert for some scene pleasing to his fancy, he went on a mile or two, un- til he had passed the scattered farm houses and had reached a turn in the road. Impelled by curiosity to seek farther, he made the turn and there met his astonished eyes a singularly beautiful old chateau. It stood in all the splen- dor of its fast decaying beauty, stained by age and exposure, with green moss growing within its time-worn crevices and ivy clinging to its walls. A steep, winding stairway led to a little balcony from which the only entrance into the room was through a small door; the door, as well as the colored windows, was barred with rods of iron. It was a place which one would naturally sup- pose to be shrouded in mystery, and as the young Englishman gazed, enchanted, upon its ancient beauty, he was seized with a desire to fathom the mystery. But how? The chateau was barred and the only habitation of man that was anywhere near it was a small hut of the poorest sort, built close to the old cha- teau, as if relying upon its ancient grandeur for protection. DE ORO Summoning nerve and confidence to his aid, for his surroundings were in- deed very singular, he knocked loudly at the door of the cottage and awaited the result of his venture. He heard a sharp ery from within, a cry of seeming surprise, a slight sound of shuttling greeted his ears and the door was opened. There stood before him an old woman of the peasant type of France, whose sharp, dark eyes, from under black brows, met his with an attitude of de- fense. Her straggly, gray hair was par- tially covered by a cap of peculiar de- sign; her skin was yellow and wrinkled with age, and her form bent and old. Her aspect was so fierce that he hastily called to mind all the French words he knew and stringing them to- gether in wild confusion, asked her if she would show him the interior of the chateau and tell him something of its history. He took for granted that the chateau had a history and that the aged peasant woman was its keeper. After a lengthy conversation, in which the old woman chattered volubly in French and the young artist sought by every possible means to make his wish known, he having placed a piece of gold in her hand, she grimly smiled and bade him follow her. Out through the tangled grasses, up the narrow winding stair, they went. The woman, with an old and rusty key, turned a lock and drew back the iron bars. Taking another key of unusual shape and size, she unlocked and threw open a narrow door and they stepped within the main room of the old chateau. What a strangely furnished place it was! The dark walls were old and crumbling, so stained by time and weather that it was difficult to ascer- tain what their coloring had originally been. Dust lay thick over the tables of odd design and carved chairs, but the object that aroused the greatest curi- osity, about which centered all the mys- tery. was a sort of recess in the wall at the far end of the room. Within it stood an altar of dark oak; a crucifix was fastened to the wall, and a marble statue of the Virgin stood upon a sort of carved shelf. The young man gazed in open wonder
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