"Oh! it was a strange family--mad, if you will, but a charming
madness, the madness of love. From father to son, all had violent
passions which filled their whole being, which impelled them to do wild
things, drove them to frantic enthusiasm, even to crime. This was born in
them, just as burning devotion is in certain souls. Trappers have not the
same nature as minions of the drawing-room. There was a saying: 'As
passionate as a Santeze.' This could be noticed by looking at them. They
all had wavy hair, falling over their brows, curly beards and large eyes
whose glance pierced and moved one, though one could not say why.

"The grandfather of the owner of this hair, of whom it is the last
souvenir, after many adventures, duels and elopements, at about
sixty-five fell madly in love with his farmer's daughter. I knew them
both. She was blond, pale, distinguished-looking, with a slow manner of
talking, a quiet voice and a look so gentle that one might have taken her
for a Madonna. The old nobleman took her to his home and was soon so
captivated with her that he could not live without her for a minute. His
daughter and daughter-in-law, who lived in the chateau, found this
perfectly natural, love was such a tradition in the family. Nothing in
regard to a passion surprised them, and if one spoke before them of
parted lovers, even of vengeance after treachery, both said in the same
sad tone: 'Oh, how he must have suffered to come to that point!' That was
all. They grew sad over tragedies of love, but never indignant, even when
they were criminal.

"Now, one day a young man named Monsieur de Gradelle, who had been
invited for the shooting, eloped with the young girl.

"Monsieur de Santeze remained calm as if nothing had happened, but one
morning he was found hanging in the kennels, among his dogs.