"No matter what may come of it, I am glad, my dear young master, that you killed that insolent duke.

The whole thing was conducted in strict accordance with the code of honour--what more could be desired?
How could any valiant gentleman object to die gloriously, sword in hand, of a good, honest wound, fairly given?
He should consider himself most fortunate." "Ah well! perhaps you are right--I will not dispute you," said de Sigognac, smiling secretly at the old man's philosophy.

"But I am very tired, and would like to go to my own room now--will you light the lamp, my good Pierre, and lead the way ?" Pierre obeyed, and the baron, preceded by his old servant and followed by his old dog and cat, slowly ascended the ancient staircase.

The quaint frescoes were gradually fading, growing ever paler and more indistinct, and there were new stains on the dull blue sky of the vaulted ceiling, where the rain and melting snow of winter storms had filtered through from the dilapidated roof.

The ruinous condition of everything in and about the crumbling old chateau, to which de Sigognac had been perfectly accustomed before he quitted it, and taken as a matter of course, now struck him forcibly, and increased his dejection.
He saw in it the sad and inevitable decadence of his race, and said to himself, "If these ancient walls had any pity for the last forlorn remnant of the family they have sheltered for centuries, they would fall in and bury me in their ruins." When he reached the landing at the head of the stairs he took the lamp from Pierre's hand, bade him good-night and dismissed him--not willing that even his faithful old servant, who had cared for him ever since his birth, should witness his overpowering emotion.