"Were they courteous to you on the road?"
"Yes. But--"
"Patience! Here we are at the rear gates."
Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked
the rear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more
were in advance. The rear gates swung open, and the little troop
passed into the chateau confines. Maurice snatched a glimpse of
the front lawns and terraces. The trees and walls were hung with
Chinese lanterns; gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted
across his vision. Somewhere within the chateau an orchestra was
playing the overture from "Linda di Chamounix." Indeed, with all
these brave officers, old men in black bedecked with ribbons,
handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels, it had the
semblance of a gay court. It was altogether a different scene
from that which was called the court of Bleiberg. There was no
restraint here; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines. The
women were young, the men were young; old age stood at one side
and looked on. And the charming Voiture-verse of a countess,
Maurice was determined to seek her first of all. He vaguely
wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himself throughout the ordeal.
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