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Updated: June 10, 2025
While he was drinking his tea and listening to the pretty flow of conversation about everything in general and nothing in particular, which seems to come so naturally to women of the world, Victor was busy painting a mental picture of a wonderful, rose-coloured future where he would reign as master of Raby Court, with Margot acting chatelaine by his side.
Dolly considered the matter gravely. She looked from Dotty and Tod to the rude, unkempt men, and after a few moments' thought she made up her mind. Deliberately she opened a little chatelaine bag that hung at her belt and took from it a ten dollar gold piece. It was her share of the cake prize, for Mr. Rose had changed the twenty dollar gold piece into two tens for the girls.
He threw himself into an arm-chair and listened to a slim-waisted smooth-haired girl coquetting with the piano. He sat with the haughty chatelaine and talked of there his imagination failed him. He hardly knew what these people talked of, although he had read many society novels. As far as his memory served him, they talked of nothing in particular.
The real chatelaine of this little court of Chantilly was a beautiful Englishwoman, Sophie Dawes, married to a French officer, the Baron of Feucheres. Born about 1795, in the Isle of Wight, Sophie Dawes was the daughter of a fisherman. It is said that she was brought up by charity, and played for some time at Covent Garden Theatre, London.
"A wife's place is by her husband." "Your Chatelaine is not tired of seclusion," she answered in a cheerful matter of fact tone; "and it is a wife's duty to look after her husband's house and keep it well for him, especially in his absence. But how much will you give me to go? My private purse is empty." Mr. Kilroy laughed. "It always is, so far as I can make out," he said.
He pecked as prettily as any bird. Seated on the right hand of his delightful hostess, nobody could be better pleased; supervised by his jäger, who stood behind his chair, no one could be better attended. He smiled, with the calm, amiable complacency of a man who feels the world is quite right. The Châtelaine of Castle Dacre
For Valentine had taken her at her word, and made it the goal of his ambition to obtain the post of castellan, so that his wife might enjoy the title of châtelaine. And wondrous indeed were his advances on the path of learning.
He had loved her very dearly and passionately, that boisterous, handsome young Louise, but that gay boy-life she had belonged to seemed separated now from this pleasant rose-garden, with its golden-haired, wisely-sweet young chatelaine, by thousands of black years. The blackness came back when he remembered what lay behind it. "There's nothing much to tell, Phyllis," he said, frowning a little.
Nothing but patrician repose and the châtelaine a duchess disguised as a dressmaker who might, or might not, ask you upstairs. In war time at that! Though, it is true, Congress had only just declared it. But, Cassy reflected, two hundred and fifty, with Lennox deducted and less ten per cent, would not take her as far as the drawbridge.
"She was no Laura, whose eyes, mortal stars, in the cathedral on Good Friday kindled that world-renowned flame. "She was no chatelaine, who in the blooming glory of her youth presided at tourneys, and awarded the victor's crown. "No casuistess in the Gay Science was she, no lady doctrinaire, who delivered her oracles in the judgment-chamber of a Court of Love.
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