beautiful a blue as the exotic ones from Guinea that I had seen under
glass in my uncle's museum. They were very wary and difficult to
ensnare, for they rested only for a second at a time upon the fragrant
muscadel grapes before fluttering away over the wall. Sometimes I would
place my foot in a crevice of the stone wall, and scramble up to the top
to look after them as they flew across the hot and silent fields; and
often I remained there on the coping for a long time, propped upon my
elbows, and contemplated the distant landscape. Every where upon the
horizon there were wooded mountains surrounded here and there by the
ruins of feudal castles. Before me, in the midst of fields of corn and
buckwheat, was the Bories estate. Its old arched porch, the only one
in the neighborhood that was whitewashed, looked like one of those
entry-ways that are so common in African villages. This estate, I had
been told, belonged to the St. Hermangarde children, who were destined
to become my future comrades. They were expected almost daily, but I
dreaded to have them come, for my little band composed of the Peyrals
seemed all sufficient and extremely well chosen.




CHAPTER XLV.



Castelnau! This ancient name brings to me visions of glorious sunshine
and of clear light shining upon noble heights; it evokes the gentle
melancholy that I felt among its ruins, and recalls to me my dreams
before the dead splendors buried there for so many centuries.