rest. The house is quite modern, not
at all pretty, a square white building, with very few trees near it,
the lawn and one or two flower-beds not particularly well kept. The
grounds ran straight down to the Villers-Cotterets forest, where M.
M. has good shooting. The gates were open, the concierge said the
ladies were there. (They didn't have to be summoned by a bell. That
is one of the habits of this part of the country. There is almost
always a large bell at the stable or "communs," and when visitors
arrive and the family are out in the grounds, not too far off, they
are summoned by the bell. I was quite surprised one day at
Bourneville, when we were in the woods at some little distance from
the chateau, when we heard the bell, and my companion, a niece of
Mme. A., instantly turned back, saying, "That means there are visits;
we must go back.") We found all the ladies sitting working in a
corner salon with big windows opening on the park. The old
grandmother was knitting, but she was so straight and slight, with
bright black eyes, that it wouldn't have seemed at all strange to see
her bending over an embroidery frame like all the others. The other
three ladies were each seated at an embroidery frame in the
embrasures of the windows. I was much impressed, particularly with
the large pieces of work that they were undertaking, a portiere,
covers for the billiard-table, bed, etc. It quite recalled what one
had always read of feudal France, when the seigneur would be off with
his retainers hunting or fighting, and the chatelaine, left alone in
the chateau, spent her time in her "bower" surrounded by her maidens,
all working at the wonderful tapestries one sees still in some of the
old churches and convents. I was never much given to work, but I made
a mental resolve that I, too, would set up a frame in one of the
drawing-rooms at home, and had visions of yards of pale-blue satin,
all covered with wonderful flowers and animals, unrolling themselves
under my skilful fingers--but I must confess that it remained a
vision. I never got further than little crochet petticoats, which
clothed every child in the village. To make the picture complete
there should have been a page in velvet cap and doublet, stretched on
the floor at the feet of his mistress, trying to distract her with
songs and ballads. The master of the house, M. M., was there, having
come in from shooting. He had been reading aloud to the
ladies--Alfred de Musset, I