ls in France."

And then she bade us enter, with a politeness that yet sounded like a
command; and we obeyed and passed up the ancient steps into a
richly-panelled hall. Over the doorways hung boars' heads, shot by her
sons, Countess C---- for she told us her name--informed us, in the
forests of Brittany.

"They are great sportsmen," she added with a smile, "and you know we
Bretons do nothing by halves. Our sportsmen are fierce and strong in the
chase, and know nothing of the effeminate pastimes of those who live in
more southern latitudes."

Then, to do us honour, and because she thought it would interest us, she
showed us through some of the reception rooms, magnificent with tapestry
and carved oak and dark panelling, and family portraits of bygone
generations, when people were taken as shepherds and shepherdesses, and
the world was a real Arcadia; and everywhere were trophies of the chase.
And, conducting us up an ancient oak staircase to a large recess looking
to the back, there our dazzled vision saw another garden stretched out
before us, longer, broader, than the paradise in front, full of roses
and lilies, and a countless number of fruit trees.

"That is my orchard," she said; "but I must have flowers everywhere, and
so, all down the borders my lilies and roses scent the air; and there I
walk and try to make my old age beautiful and contented, as every old
age ought to be. My young days were passed at Court; my later years in
this quiet seclusion, out of the world. Alas! there is no more Court for
old or young."

Then again we descended into a salon so polished that you could trace
your features on the parquet flooring; a room that would have dignified
a monarch; a room where everything was old-fashioned and beautiful,
subdued and refined; and our hostess, pointing to lovely old chairs
covered with tapestry that had been worked a century-and-a-half ago,
touched a bell and insisted upon our refreshing ourselves with some wine
of the country and a cake peculiar to St. Pol de Leon. It is probable
that H.C.'s poetical eyes and ethereal countenance, whilst captivating
her heart, had suggested a dangerous delicacy of constitution. These
countenances, however, are deceptive; it is often your robust and florid
people who fail to reach more than the stage of early manhood.

In response to the bell there entered a Breton maid with cake and wine
on a silver tray. She was youthful and comely, and wore a picturesque
B