" Such was his amiability that I am sure
he enjoyed it, for he always went promptly, and called her "_Mon
amour_," and slyly kissed her when he thought we were not looking.

All our remarks upon his red ties fell upon unheeding ears, until one
day I bribed his man to bring me every one of them. These I
distributed among the women guests, and when, the next morning, Dunham
came in complaining that he couldn't find any of his red ties, lo!
every woman in the room was wearing one; and to our credit be it
spoken that he failed to get any of them back, and never, to my
knowledge at least, wore a scarlet tie again.

Velor is historic. After it passed out of the hands of Charles VII.--I
have slept in his room, but I must say that he was unpleasantly short
if that bed fitted him!--it was bought by the old miser Nivelau, whose
daughter, Eugenie Belmaison, was the girl Balzac wished to marry. In a
rage at being rejected by her father he wrote _Eugenie Grandet_, and
several of the articles, such as her work-box, of which Balzac makes
mention, are in the possession of the Marquise.

Every available room in the Velor was filled with our party. Each day
we drove in the brake to visit some ancient chateau, such as
Azay-le-Rideau, Islette, Chinon, or the Abbey of Fontevreault, finding
the roads and scenery in Touraine the most delightful one can imagine.

Fontevreault was originally an abbey, and a most powerful one, being
presided over by daughters of kings or women of none but the highest
rank, and these noble women held the power of life and death over all
the country which was fief to Fontevreault.

Velor was once fief to Fontevreault, but the abbey is now turned into
a prison.

They took away our cameras before they allowed us to enter, but we saw
some of the prisoners, of whom there were one thousand. The real
object of our visit, however, was to see the tombs of Henry II. and of
my beloved Richard the Lion-hearted, who are both buried at
Fontevreault. To go to Fontevreault, we were obliged to cross the
river Vienne on the most curious little old ferry, which was only a
raft with the edges turned up. Charles drove the brake on to this
raft, but we preferred, after one look into the eyes of the American
horses, to climb down and trust to our own two feet.

We gave and attended breakfasts with the owners of neighboring
chateaux, drove into Saumur to the theatre or to dine with the
officers of the regiment stationed there, a