THE CHÂTEAU
About a quarter of an hour later the three Americans were standing
before a high and ornamental gateway which led into the great park
belonging to the château. Only a small portion of the De Morancourt
coat of arms which once adorned it remained in place, and the ancient
bricks showed in many places the destructive effects of German shells.
"This must be one of those real, bona-fide, genuine châteaus we read
about," commented Chase.
"Yes; according to what I have been told it dates back to the time of
Louis the Fourteenth," said the art student.
"I do wonder what could have become of all those pictures and art
treasures!" mused Don.
"A lot of other people have been wondering, too; and whether they will
ever get beyond the wondering stage or not is problematical."
"Suppose we get into the wandering stage."
"I don't see any stage."
"At any rate, let us hope there won't be anything unlucky about this
stage of our journey," put in Chase, dryly.
Entering the grounds, the three found themselves on a wide carriage
road, bordered on each side with stately trees. The moonlight flooded
the scene with unusual brilliancy, and some of the ancient oaks, which
had escaped the destroying shells, made a grimly-impressive picture, as
their boughs and branches were silhouetted against the steely bluish
tones of the sky. Here and there the roadway was deeply shadowed; in
other places, it gleamed with a ghostly paleness amid the surrounding
gloom.
At one time the park had evidently been anything but a haven of refuge;
for the same sort of havoc which existed elsewhere was to be found on
all sides--fallen trees, mutilated trunks and the earth torn up by
projectiles. And Chase Manning observed, with considerable uneasiness,
that some of the shells must have very recently fallen.
"I declare, this makes me think of some of those old-time romantic
novels!" declared Dunstan, with enthusiasm. "What an air of charm
and mystery there is all about us! And look, mes amis, what do I
see?--Actually a marble group which has probably weathered the storm of
centuries past and strangely enough even escaped the present danger!"
In a glade to their left the ambulanciers saw what had once been a
fountain. The center of the spacious marble basin was occupied by
a gigantic figure of Neptune surrounded by a number of rearing and
plunging horses. In the full glare of the moonlight, portions of the
ancient marble forms were clearly revealed in broad masses of greenish
white, against the background of trees beyond; the rest disappeared in
the shadows.
Even Chase--Chase who rarely took heed of the pleasing or the
picturesque--gave an exclamation expressive of admiration.
"By George!--just to see that is worth all the trouble we have taken!"
cried Don, as they walked up to obtain a view at closer range.
"At some future time it means another sketch for my portfolio,"
declared Dunstan. "How very still these fiery-looking horses simulating
rapid action are," he continued, reflectively, "but how vivid the
impression of life and activity each conveys to the mind! And how very
silent they are! Yet one gifted with a little imagination can almost
hear them snorting, in their haste and excitement."
"Pretty good, boy! Keep it up," said Chase.
"And Neptune, gaunt and threatening, with his arm upraised, appears to
be urging them on, as though unmindful of the fact that he and they are
forever destined to remain immovable!"
"Bravo!"
Standing before the time-worn group, in the lonely and deserted park,
with the vegetation all about them rustling in the faint breeze, Don
Hale felt a peculiar sensation of awe stealing over him.
"Dunstan was right--it makes a chap almost feel as if he were living in
another age," he thought. And then, aloud, the aviator's son exclaimed:
"How curious it is to think that perhaps two or three hundred years
ago people may have looked upon this very same group!"
"Yes; in all probability kings and courtiers, grand seigneurs and noble
dames once cast their eyes upon it," remarked Dunstan. "Ah, if I could
only invoke the muse, what a grand poem I could compose!"
"And by so doing either provoke or amuse us," chuckled Chase, with the
first laugh he had been heard to utter during the day.
"Good!--Chase's second joke!" cried Don, approvingly.
"Allons, mes amis--let's go!"
The trio, skirting around the fountain, reached the road again and
continued to tramp steadily on. The way led up a slight ascent, and
occasionally, through openings in the trees, they caught glimpses
of charming bits of scenery, with shadowy, mysterious-looking hills
looming up beyond. Then they observed what had once been very wonderful
lawns, but which were now mere fields overrun with weeds and tall
grasses and deeply pitted here and there with shell-holes.
They were approaching a bend, and the moment the turn was reached
Dunstan stopped short, and, with a wave of his hand, exclaimed
dramatically:
"'Behold yon tower;
Mark well those crumbling walls--
Those silent chroniclers of years gone by,
Of tyranny and tears!'"
"The Château de Morancourt is before our eyes!" cried Don. "Hooray!"
"The park seems to equal the château and the château to equal the
park," commented Chase.
Not far ahead, situated on the crest of a hill, the grim-looking
mediæval structure, with its wings and gables and partly demolished
tower, presented a singularly impressive appearance. From where they
stood the soft, mysterious light of the moon mercifully concealed from
view the great damage wrought by the missiles.
"En avant!--Forward march!" cried Dunstan. "Isn't it curious to think,
fellows, that not so very long ago the Germans learned about the tower
being used as an observation post, and the result was----"
"That there are no longer any observers, I suppose?" broke in Don.
"Exactly!"
"A nice place you have led us to!" growled Chase.
He gave a perceptible start, for at that very instant a star shell
soared majestically up from the German lines, and then, having reached
a great altitude, burst into flames, casting all around it a brilliant
whitish glare.
The nearer the ambulanciers approached the Château de Morancourt the
grander and more awesome the massive structure appeared. Over the
air from afar came the faint rumble of the convoys, but a strange,
melancholy silence, which accorded well with the solemn aspect of the
building and its surroundings, hovered over the park.
"How suggestive of dark deeds and mystery!" murmured Dunstan. Then he
added, meditatively: "I wonder if we couldn't manage to get a look
inside!"
"By all means let's try," cried Don.
The three walked under a magnificent porte-cochère, supported by
graceful pillars, and came to a halt before the entrance. It was very
dark and somber in the shadow--so dark and somber indeed that the
massive door which surmounted a broad flight of stone steps leading up
on either side could be scarcely seen.
Don, Dunstan and Chase could make out the dim outlines of a marble
lion supporting a shield which stood on a pedestal at the bottom of
the escalier, or steps. Without stopping to admire its savage and
formidable appearance, they began to mount, feeling their way by means
of the massive marble balustrade. Arriving at the top, Dunstan gave
the big door a vigorous push. So did Don and Chase. Once, twice--three
times they tried it, but their efforts were of no avail.
"Nothing doing!" growled Chase. "It would take a German shell to open
that ton of door."
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," laughed Don.
By this time, their eyes having become more accustomed to the darkness,
they were able to discern some of the details on the great entrance and
on the magnificent lamps which flanked it to the right and left.
"Splendid," exclaimed Dunstan. "It makes me all the more determined to
gain an entrance."
And so speaking, he skipped lightly down the opposite flight of steps.
His companions clattered after him.
Then the three began walking along by the side of the building, and
though it was all very much obscured it was not so dark as to prevent
them from detecting the presence of scars and holes and cracks which
everywhere disfigured the walls. Passing around several wings into the
full glare of the moonlight, the ambulanciers kept steadily on until
the imposing façade of the château was reached. Great bay windows
and projecting portions relieved the structure from any appearance
of monotony, and here and there thick masses of vines climbing over
the weather-stained walls helped to soften their grim and threatening
aspect. The lower windows were within easy reach of the ground, and as
Don Hale's eyes lighted on the third from the end he gave a loud cry of
exultation.
"Look, fellows--how's that for luck! There's one almost entirely
demolished."
"Unkind fate for the château is kind fate for us," exclaimed Dunstan.
"I hope we shall not find ourselves in a waking nightmare," declared
Chase. "I'm not so keen about going inside."
"Oh, pshaw!" broke in the aviator's son, impatiently.
He sprinted over to the window, and, reaching up, gripped hold of the
sill. Strong and muscular, it was an easy task for the boy to draw
himself up and climb astride it. Leaning forward, he peered eagerly
inside the room. The window, like every other along that side of the
building, admitted a shaft of moonlight, which, for a short distance,
streaked weirdly across the floor. Don found himself staring at his own
shadow, singularly clear-cut in the midst of the pale greenish-blue
patch before him; then his glances wandered beyond. But all was
shrouded in deep obscurity.
Without hesitation the boy eased himself down into the room, which he
could tell was of immense and imposing dimensions.
"Come on, fellows," he called, "so in case I fall into the cellar you
can pick me up."
Bringing forth a small flash-light from an inside pocket, Don turned
on the brilliant rays just as the figure of Dunstan loomed up in the
window.
"This is an adventure that appeals to my imagination," remarked the art
student, cheerfully, as he clambered down and joined his companion.
A moment later Chase stood beside them.
Don Hale sent the beam of light flashing all around them, and as its
rays revealed the richness of the interior all three ambulanciers gave
voice to emphatic expressions of admiration.
"Great, splendid--superb!" cried Dunstan. "I've just discovered what's
been the matter with me all along--this is the sort of place I should
have lived in."
"Quite naturally; artists as a rule inhabit castles," remarked Chase,
dryly, "though sometimes they are airy, like the stuff of which dreams
are made. By George, fellows, what a spooky-looking place!"
"It is, indeed," asserted Dunstan, meditatively. "Strange that the
Count de Morancourt should have left without putting his goods in
storage!"
"Nothing strange about it," said Don. "I reckon the furniture vans
wouldn't have lasted very long--see!" The light fell across several
huge apertures in the opposite wall which told of the accuracy of the
German artillery. "Must have been pretty hot around here, eh?"
"Quite so," responded Dunstan laconically.
The three walked around a massive oak table in the center of the
room and then up to a huge fireplace at one end, where they halted.
The ribbon of light quivered and flashed on an ancient suit of armor
hanging just above and from there traveled to a great shield with the
coat of arms of the De Morancourts emblazoned upon it. Higher up the
head of a stag suddenly popped forth from the darkness, its glassy eyes
seeming to stare down upon them with a look of wonder.
"Perhaps, in the age of the bow and arrow, some old ancestor of the
count's brought him low," commented Chase.
Led by Don Hale, the ambulanciers continued their tour of inspection.
Now the flash-light brought into view old tapestries of mellow and
harmonious tones, or rows of ancestral portraits, many probably dating
from the dim and distant past. The earliest of these, very somber in
tone and much cracked, represented the De Morancourts as stern-visaged
and august-looking personages who had a penchant for wearing armor and
clasping heavy swords.
"I shouldn't like to have any old chaps of their type challenging me to
fight a duel," laughed Dunstan. "Suppose we see what the rest of the
château has to offer us."
Both footsteps and voices echoed in a most uncanny fashion, and Chase
found that somehow the darkness and mystery of the great interior
were producing rather creepy sensations within him. Often, to his
imagination, the room became peopled with an assemblage of the great
personages of the past. And then, though he knew it was quite absurd,
an unpleasant, vaguely-defined fear assailed him that at any moment
some one might step out of the shadows and demand the reason for their
presence in those ancestral halls.
The next apartment the visitors entered was almost as large and even
more gorgeous than the preceding. A magnificent oval painting adorned
the ceiling. The walls were wainscoted with oak, and a richly-carved
mantelpiece of the same wood particularly attracted the ambulanciers'
attention.
"Now I can better understand the value of the things which
disappeared," declared Chase. "No wonder such a howl went up."
"I hate mysteries which are never solved," cried Don. "I wish to
goodness that before the section moves on some one would get busy and
give us an answer to this riddle."
"No danger," grunted Chase.
In a deep bay window the light disclosed fine stained glass, evidently
of rich colors and graceful designs.
So interested was the young chap from Maine in examining the various
furnishings that he did not notice a chair lying in his path until he
brought up against it with considerable violence.
Uttering an exclamation of impatience, he gave the offending piece of
furniture a vigorous shove, which sent it flying directly into the
curtained doorway leading to the dining-room.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Dunstan, pleasantly.
"Not enough for it to get any mention in the Parisian papers," growled
the other.
The Red Cross men thought that the dining-room, with its heavily-beamed
ceiling, carved sideboards and china closets, in spite of a certain air
of heaviness and austerity, must have been a very pleasant place in
which to eat.
"The château seems more like a museum than a place of residence,"
declared Don. "But, fellows, we'd better hustle a bit faster. You know
a German marmite may be flying in this direction at any minute."
"A sensible suggestion," said the art student; "for nothing is more
certain than that we are in the midst of the greatest of uncertainties."
Reaching the entrance hall they discovered a very elegant staircase,
with ornate newel posts and balustrades, ascending to a balcony.
"Just a moment--let's finish our inspection of the first floor before
venturing into the unknown regions above," exclaimed Chase.
Cautiously following the pathway of light, which ever streamed far in
advance, the trio presently entered a long apartment which brought
forth involuntary exclamations of admiration from all.
"The ballroom!" cried Dunstan.
"And the show-place of the whole château," exclaimed Don.
"It certainly is a show, all right," commented Chase. "What staggering
sums of money it must have taken to run such an establishment!"
"I don't think I could have managed it on my income," laughed Don.
On one side of the ballroom stretched gilded mirrors and magnificent
decorations, while on the other a long row of high, arched windows
faced the park. In whichever direction the light traveled some new
and unexpected beauty flashed into view. The beams sparkled and shone
on candelabra, on paintings and tapestries, and sometimes reaching up
to the ceiling disclosed a bluish vault, in imitation of the heavens,
studded with golden stars.
"Enough of this!" cried Chase, suddenly. "We don't want to stay here
all night."
And turning abruptly on his heel, the new member of the Red Cross
hurried away.
A few moments later the three uninvited visitors were ascending the
stairway.