e been
removed in cold blood, with deliberate intent, for the sake of decency,
and because, as one of the servants of his Majesty informed us
convincingly, "a great many were improper for the lady visitors to see."

CHATEAU DE CHENONCEAUX.

A something of infinite suavity and aristocratic serenity pervades the
Chateau de Chenonceaux. It is situated outside of the village, which
keeps at a respectful distance. It can be seen through a large avenue of
trees, and is enclosed by woods and an extensive park with beautiful
lawns. Built on the water, it proudly uprears its turrets and its square
chimneys. The Cher flows below, and murmurs at the foot of its arches,
the pointed corners of which form eddies in the tide. It is all very
peaceful and charming, graceful yet robust. Its calm is not wearying and
its melancholy has no tinge of bitterness.

One enters through the end of a long, arched hallway, which used to be a
fencing-room. It is decorated with some armours, which, in spite of the
obvious necessity of their presence, do not shock one's taste or appear
out of place. The whole scheme of interior decoration is tastefully
carried out; the furniture and hangings of the period have been
preserved and cared for intelligently. The great, venerable mantel-pieces
of the sixteenth century do not shelter the hideous and economical German
stoves, which might easily be hidden in some of them.

In the kitchen, situated in a wing of the castle, which we visited
later, a maid was peeling vegetables and a scullion was washing dishes,
while the cook was standing in front of the stove, superintending a
reasonable number of shining saucepans. It was all very delightful, and
bespoke the idle and intelligent home life of a gentleman. I like the
owners of Chenonceaux.

In fact, have you not often seen charming old paintings that make you
gaze at them indefinitely, because they portray the period in which
their owners lived, the ballets in which the farthingales of all those
beautiful pink ladies whirled around, and the sword-thrusts which those
noblemen gave each other with their rapiers? Here are some temptations
of history. One would like to know whether those people loved as we do,
and what difference existed between their passions and our own. One
would like them to open their lips and tell their history, tell us
everything they used to do, no matter how futile, and what their cares
and pleasures used to be. It is an irritating an