CHAPTER II.
A gently ascending road, more than two miles in length, shaded by a quadruple row of venerable elms, led from the village to the Chateau de Sairmeuse.
Nothing could be more beautiful than this avenue, a fit approach to a palace; and the stranger who beheld it could understand the naively vain proverb of the country: "He does not know the real beauty of France, who has never seen Sairmeuse nor the Oiselle." The Oiselle is the little river which one crosses by means of a wooden bridge on leaving the village, and whose clear and rapid waters give a delicious freshness to the valley.
At every step, as one ascends, the view changes.

It is as if an enchanting panorama were being slowly unrolled before one.
On the right you can see the saw-mills of Fereol.

On the left, like an ocean of verdure, the forest of Dolomien trembles in the breeze.

Those imposing ruins on the other side of the river are all that remain of the feudal manor of the house of Breulh.

That red brick mansion, with granite trimmings, half concealed by a bend in the river, belongs to the Baron d'Escorval.
And, if the day is clear, one can easily distinguish the spires of Montaignac in the distance.
This was the path traversed by M.Lacheneur after Chupin had delivered his message.
But what did he care for the beauties of the landscape! Upon the church porch he had received his death-wound; and now, with a tottering and dragging step, he dragged himself along like one of those poor soldiers, mortally wounded upon the field of battle, who go back, seeking a ditch or quiet spot where they can lie down and die.
He seemed to have lost all thought of his surroundings--all consciousness of previous events.