“Oh, Monsieur Maurice,” I said, “I did not think there was such a beautiful
place in the world! It sounds like a fairy tale.”
He smiled, sighed, and--being seated at his desk with the pen in his
hand--took up a blank sheet of paper, and began sketching the Château and
the cliff.
“Tell me more about it, Monsieur Maurice,” I pleaded coaxingly.
“What more can I tell you, little one? See--this window in the turret to
the left was my bed-room window, and here, just below, was my study, where
as a boy I prepared my lessons for my tutor. That large Gothic window under
the gable was the window of the library.”
“And is it all just like that still?” I asked.
“I don't know,” he said dreamily. “I suppose so.”
He was now putting in the rocks, and the rough steps leading down to the
beach.
“Had you any little brothers and sisters, Monsieur Maurice?” I asked next;
for my interest and curiosity were unbounded.
He shook his head.
“None,” he said, “none whatever. I was an only child; and I am the last of
my name.”