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THE CHATEAU DE CONDILLAC.
As Captain d'Aubran and his troop were speeding westwards from Grenoble, Monsieur de Garnache, ever attended by his man, rode briskly in the opposite direction, towards the grey towers of Condillac, that reared themselves towards the greyer sky above the valley of the Isere.

It was a chill, dull, autumnal day, with a raw wind blowing from the Alps; its breath was damp, and foretold of the rain that was likely to come anon, the rain with which the clouds hanging low about the distant hills were pregnant.
But Monsieur de Garnache was totally insensible to his surroundings; his mind was very busy with the interview from which he had come, and the interview to which he was speeding.

Once he permitted himself a digression, that he might point a moral for the benefit of his servant.
"You see, Rebecque, what a plague it is to have to do with women.

Are you sufficiently grateful to me for having quelled your matrimonial ardour of two months ago?
No, you are not.