the cure, and all local gossip, and as much about
the iniquities of the republic as could be said before the wife of a
republican senator. Wherever we went, even to the largest chateaux,
where the family went to Paris for the season, the talk was almost
entirely confined to France and French interests. Books, politics,
music, people, nothing existed apparently au-dela des frontieres.
America was an unknown quantity. It was strange to see intelligent
people living in the world so curiously indifferent as to what went on
in other countries. At first I used to talk a little about America and
Rome, where I had lived many years and at such an interesting
time--the last days of Pio Nono and the transformation of the old
superstitious papal Rome to the capital of young Italy--but I soon
realized that it didn't interest any one, and by degrees I learned to
talk like all the rest.

I often think of one visit to a charming little Louis XV chateau
standing quite on the edge of the forest--just room enough for the
house, and the little hamlet at the gates; a magnificent view of the
forest, quite close to the lawn behind the chateau, and then sweeping
off, a dark-blue mass, as far as one could see. We were shown into a
large, high room, no carpet, no fire, some fine portraits, very little
furniture, all close against the wall, a round table in the middle
with something on it, I couldn't make out what at first. Neither
books, reviews, nor even a photographic album--the supreme resource of
provincial salons. When we got up to take leave I managed to get near
the table, and the _ornament_ was a large white plate with a piece of
fly-paper on it. The mistress of the house was shy and uncomfortable;
sent at once for her husband, and withdrew from the conversation as
soon as he appeared, leaving him to make all the "frais." We walked a
little around the park before leaving. It was really a lovely little
place, with its background of forest and the quiet, sleepy little
village in front; very lonely and far from everything, but with a
certain charm of its own. Two or three dogs were playing in the
court-yard, and one curious little animal who made a rush at the
strangers. I was rather taken aback, particularly when the master of
the house told me not to be afraid, it was only a marcassin (small
wild boar), who had been born on the place, and was as quiet as a
kitten. I did not think the great tusks and square, shaggy head looked
very pleasa