Part 1 (1/2)
In Search of a Son.
by William Shepard Walsh.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESPATCH.
In the great silence of the fields a far-off clock struck seven. The sun, an August sun, had been up for some time, lighting up and warming the left wing of the old French chateau. The tall old chestnut-trees of the park threw the greater part of the right wing into the shade, and in this pleasant shade was placed a bench of green wood, chairs, and a stone table.
The door of the chateau opened, and a gentleman lightly descended the threshold. He was in his slippers and dressing-robe, and under the dressing-robe you could see his night-gown. After having thrown a satisfied look upon the beauty of nature, he approached the green seat, and seated himself before the stone table. An old servant came up and said,--
”What will you take this morning, sir?”
And as the gentleman, who did not seem to be hungry, was thinking what he wanted, the servant added,--
”Coffee, soup, tea?”
”No,” said the gentleman; ”give me a little vermouth and seltzer water.”
The servant retired, and soon returned with a tray containing the order.
The gentleman poured out a little vermouth and seltzer water, then rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and, leaning back upon the rounded seat of the green bench, looked with pleasure at the lovely scene around him.
On the left, in a small lake framed in the green lawn, was reflected one wing of the old chateau, as in a mirror. The bricks, whose colors were lighted up by the sun, seemed to be burning in the midst of the water.
The large lawn began at the end of a gravelled walk, and seemed to be without limit, for the park merged into cultivated ground, and verdant hills rose over hills. There was not a cloud in the sky.
The gentleman, after gazing for some minutes around him, got up and opened the door of the chateau. He called out, ”Peter!” in a subdued voice, fearing, no doubt, to waken some sleeper.
The servant ran out at once.
”Well, Peter,” said the gentleman, ”have the papers come?”
”No, sir; they have not yet come. That surprises me. If you wish, sir, I will go and meet the postman.”
And Peter was soon lost to sight in a little shady alley which descended into the high-road. In a few moments he reappeared, followed by a man.
”Sir,” said he, ”I did not meet the letter-carrier; but here is a man with a telegraphic despatch.”
The man advanced, and, feeling in a bag suspended at his side, he said,--
”Monsieur Dalize, I believe?”
”Yes, my friend.”
”Well, here is a telegram for you which arrived at Sens last night.”
”A telegram?” said Monsieur Dalize, knitting his brows, his eyes showing that he was slightly surprised, and almost displeased, as if he had learned that unexpected news was more often bad news than good.
Nevertheless, he took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at once at the signature.