So as soon as we arrived, we called on the steward, M. Corvesier. They
ushered us into a large kitchen where a young lady in black, marked by
smallpox and wearing horn spectacles over her prominent eyes, was
stemming currants. The kettle was on the fire and they were crushing
sugar with bottles. It was evident that we were intruding. After several
minutes had elapsed, we were informed that M. Corvesier was confined to
his bed with a fever and was very sorry that he could not be of any
service to us, but sent us his regards. In the meantime, his clerk, who
had just come in from an errand, and who was lunching on a glass of
cider and a piece of buttered bread, offered to show us the castle. He
put his napkin down, sucked his teeth, lighted his pipe, took a bunch of
keys from the wall and started ahead of us through the village.
After following a long wall, we entered through an old door into a
silent farm-yard. Silica here and there shows through the beaten ground,
on which grows a little grass soiled by manure. There was nobody around
and the stable was empty. In the barns some chickens were roosting on
the poles of the wagons, with their heads under their wings.
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