hid among
noble old woods on the beautiful slopes of the bluffs which line the
Loire.

"There," they said, "lives a true gentleman, a little too proud,
perhaps, but, nevertheless, a true gentleman."

For contrary to the usual state of things in the country, where envy
is apt to engender hatred, the count was quite popular, in spite of his
title and his large fortune. He was at that time about forty years old,
quite tall and good-looking, solemn and courteous, obliging, although
reserved, and very good-natured as long as no one spoke in his presence
of the church or the reigning family, the nobility or the clergy, of his
hounds or the wines of his vineyards, or of various other subjects on
which he had what he chose to consider his "own opinions."

As he spoke but rarely, and said little at the time, he said fewer
foolish things than most people, and thus obtained the reputation of
being clever and well-informed, of which he was very proud and very
careful. He lived freely, almost profusely, and thus put aside every
year but little more than about half his income. He had all his clothes
made in Paris, was proud of his foot, and always wore gloves.

His house was kept handsomely; and his gardens cost him a good deal of
money. He kept a pack of hounds, and six hunters. Finally, he kept half
a dozen lazy servants in the house, whose gorgeous liveries, with
the family coat-of-arms, were a source of perpetual wonder at Saint
Mathurin.

He would have been perfect, but for his passion for hunting.

As soon as the season opened, he was sure to be found, on foot or
on horseback, crossing the stubblefields, jumping over hedges, or
floundering in the swamps. This he carried so far, that the ladies of
the neighborhood, who had daughters, blamed him to his face for
his imprudence, and scolded him for risking his precious health so
recklessly.

This nobleman, forty years old, and enjoying all that heart could
desire, was unmarried. And yet he had not lacked opportunities to remedy
the evil. There was not a good mother for twenty miles around who did
not covet this prize for her daughter,--thirty thousand dollars a year,
and a great man.

He had only to appear at a ball in the provincial towns, and he was the
hero. Mothers and daughters kept their sweetest smiles for him; and kind
welcomes were offered on all sides. But all these manoeuvres had been
fruitless; he had escaped from all snares, and resisted the most cunning
de