autiful portrait of her daughter, the Marquise de
Chaponay, on horseback. There were handsome carved chests and china
vases on the landing, which opened on a splendid long gallery, very
high and light--bedrooms on one side, on the other big windows (ten or
twelve, I should think) looking over the park and gardens. She took me
to a large, comfortable room, bright wood fire blazing, and a pretty
little dressing-room opening out of it, furnished in a gay,
old-fashioned pattern of chintz. She said breakfast would be ready in
ten minutes--supposed I could find my way down, and left me to my own
devices.

I found the family assembled in the drawing-room; four women: Mme. de
Courval and her daughter, the Marquise de Chaponay, a tall handsome
woman, and two other ladies of a certain age; I did not catch their
names, but they looked like all the old ladies one always sees in a
country house in France. I should think they were cousins or habituees
of the chateau, as they each had their embroidery frame and one a
little dog. I am haunted by the embroidery frames--I am sure I shall
end my days in a black cap, bending over a frame making portieres or a
piano-cover.

We breakfasted in a large square dining-room running straight through
the house, windows on each side. The room was all in wood
panelling--light gray--the sun streaming in through the windows. Mme.
de Courval put W. on her right, me on her other side. We had an
excellent breakfast, which we appreciated after our early start. There
was handsome old silver on the table and sideboard, which is a rare
thing in France, as almost all the silver was melted during the
Revolution. Both Mme. de Courval and her daughter were very easy and
animated. The Marquise de Chaponay told me she had known W. for years,
that in the old days before he became such a busy man and so engrossed
in politics he used to read Alfred de Musset to her, in her atelier,
while she painted. She supposed he read now to me--which he certainly
never did--as he always told me he hated reading aloud. They talked
politics, of course, but their opinions were the classic Faubourg St.
Germain opinions: "A Republic totally unfitted for France and the
French"--"none of the gentlemen in France really Republican at heart"
(with evidently a few exceptions)--W.'s English blood and education
having, of course, influenced him.

As soon as breakfast was over one of the windows on the side of the
moat was opened and we all