house, called THE CHÂTEAU, inhabited by a gentleman and his daughter,
who, without a single servant, companion, or attendant, led the lonely
lives of hermits. The neighbors said that it was avarice or ill-humor
that induced a person possessed of so beautiful an estate to bury
himself in such a solitude. The farmer who worked on the property
carefully avoided all explanations as to the conduct or purpose of the
proprietor, and sedulously respected the mysterious habits and fancies
of his master. His business prospered; for the soil was fertile and the
rent low. Indeed, he was grateful to his landlord, and, every Sunday,
lent him a horse, which carried him and his daughter, in their
weather-beaten _calèche_, to the village church. On great occasions the
farmer's son performed the duty of lackey for the proprietor.

It is an afternoon of one of the last days of July. The sun has nearly
finished his daily course, and is declining rapidly toward the horizon;
still, his rays, though less ardent than at noontide, are hot enough to
make the air close and stifling. At Grinselhof the last beams of the
setting luminary play gayly over the foliage, gilding the tree-tops with
sparkling light, while, on the eastern side of the dense foliage, the
long, broad shadows begin to fall athwart the sward, and prepare the
groves for the gentle and refreshing breeze that springs up at twilight.

Sadness and gloom hang over the sombre château and its grounds; a
deathlike silence weighs like a gravestone on the desolate scene; the
birds are songless; the wind is still; not a leaf stirs; and light alone
seems to be living in that dreary solitude. No one could observe the
entire absence of noise, motion, and vitality, without being impressed
with the idea that nature had been suddenly plunged in a deep and magic
sleep.