Prince or plebeian, Valmond played his part with equal aplomb at thesimple home of Elise Malboir and at the Manoir Hilaire, where MadameChalice received him. His dress had nothing of the bizarre on thisoccasion. He was in black-long coat, silk stockings, the collar of hiswaistcoat faced with white, his neckerchief white and full, his enamelledshoes adorned with silver buckles. His present repose and decorumcontrasted strangely with the fanciful display at his first introduction.Madame Chalice approved instantly, for though the costume was, in itself,an affectation, previous to the time by a generation, it was in thepicture, was sedately refined. She welcomed him in the salon where manyanother distinguished man had been entertained--from Frontenac, andVaudreuil, down to Sir Guy Carleton. The Manor had belonged to herhusband's people seventy-five years before, and though, as a banker inNew York, Monsieur Chalice had become an American of the Americans, ather request he had bought back from a kinsman the old place, unchanged,furniture and all. Bringing the antique plate, china, and bric-a-brac,made in France when Henri Quatre was king, she fared away to Quebec, setthe rude mansion in order, and was happy for a whole summer, as was herhusband, the best of fishermen and sportsmen. The Manor House stood on aknoll, behind which, steppe on steppe, climbed the hills, till they endedin Dalgrothe Mountain. Beyond the mountain were unexplored regions, hilland valley floating into hill and valley, lost in a miasmic haze, ruddy,silent, untenanted, save, mayhap, by the strange people known as theLittle Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills.