THE CHAMPDOCE MYSTERY

CHAPTER I.

A DUCAL MONOMANIAC.

The traveller who wishes to go from Poitiers to London by the shortest
route will find that the simplest way is to take a seat in the
stage-coach which runs to Saumur; and when you book your place, the
polite clerk tells you that you must take your seat punctually at six
o'clock. The next morning, therefore, the traveller has to rise from his
bed at a very early hour, and make a hurried and incomplete toilet, and
on arriving, flushed and panting, at the office, discover that there was
no occasion for such extreme haste.

In the hotel from whence the coach starts every one seems to be asleep,
and a waiter, whose eyes are scarcely open, wanders languidly about.
There is not the slightest good in losing your temper, or in pouring out
a string of violent remonstrances. In a small restaurant opposite a cup
of hot coffee can be procured, and it is there that the disappointed
travellers congregate, to await the hour when the coach really makes a
start.

At length, however, all is ready, the conductor utters a tremendous
execration, the coachman cracks his whip, the horses spring forward, the
wheels rattle, and the coach is off at last. Whilst the conductor smokes
his pipe tranquilly, the passengers gaze out of the windows and admire
the beautiful aspect of the surrounding country. On each side stretch
the woods and fields of Bevron. The covers are full of game, which has
increased enormously, as the owner of the property has never allowed a
shot to be fired since he had the misfortune, some twenty years ago, to
kill one of his dependents whilst out shooting. On the right hand side
some distance off rise the tower and battlements of the Chateau de
Mussidan. It is two years ago since the Dowager Countess of Chevanche
died, leaving all her fortune to her niece, Mademoiselle Sabine de
Mussidan. She was a kind-hearted woman, rough and ready in her manner,
but very popular amongst the peasantry. Farther off, on the top of some
rising ground, appears an imposing structure, of an ancient style of
architecture; this is the ancient residence of the Dukes of Champdoce.
The left wing is a picturesque mass of ruins; the roof has fallen
in, and the mullions of the windows are dotted with a thick growth of
clustering ivy. Rain, storm, and sunshine have all done their work, and
painted the mouldering walls with a hundred varied tints. In 1840 the
inheritor of one of the noblest names of France resided here with
his only son. The name of the present proprietor was Caesar Guillaume
Duepair de Champdoce. He was looked upon both by the gentry and
peasantry of the country side as a most eccentric individual. He could
be seen any day wandering about, dressed in the most shabby manner, and
wearing a coat that was frequently in urgent need of repair, a leathern
cap on his head, wooden shoes, and a stout oaken cudgel in his hand. In
winter he supplemented to these an ancient sheepskin coat. He was sixty
years of age, very powerfully built, and possessing enormous strength.
The expression upon his face showed that his will was as strong as
his thews and sinews. Beneath his shaggy eyebrows twinkled a pair of
light-gray eyes, which darkened when a fit of passion overtook him, and
this was no unusual occurrence.