figure. On the other hand,
the statuettes that surround the base of the tomb are of even more
exquisite workmanship: they represent weeping women, in long mantles and
hoods, which latter hang forward over the small face of the figure,
giving the artist a chance to carve the features within this hollow of
drapery--an extraordinary play of skill. There is a high, white marble
shrine of the Virgin, as extraordinary as all the rest (a series of
compartments representing the various scenes of her life, with the
Assumption in the middle); and there is a magnificent series of stalls,
which are simply the intricate embroidery of the tombs translated into
polished oak. All these things are splendid, ingenious, elaborate,
precious; it is goldsmith's work on a monumental scale, and the general
effect is none the less beautiful and solemn because it is so rich. But
the monuments of the church of Brou are not the noblest that one may
see; the great tombs of Verona are finer, and various other early
Italian work. These things are not insincere, as Ruskin would say; but
they are pretentious, and they are not positively _naifs_. I should
mention that the walls of the choir are embroidered in places with
Margaret's tantalising device, which--partly perhaps because it is
tantalising--is so very decorative, as they say in London. I know not
whether she was acquainted with this epithet, but she had anticipated
one of the fashions most characteristic of our age.

One asks one's self how all this decoration, this luxury of fair and
chiselled marble, survived the French Revolution. An hour of liberty in
the choir of Brou would have been a carnival for the image-breakers. The
well-fed Bressois are surely a good-natured people. I call them well-fed
both on general and on particular grounds. Their province has the most
savoury aroma, and I found an opportunity to test its reputation. I
walked back into the town from the church (there was really nothing to
be seen by the way), and as the hour of the midday breakfast had struck,
directed my steps to the inn. The table d'hote was going on, and a
gracious, bustling, talkative landlady welcomed me. I had an excellent
repast--the best repast possible--which consisted simply of boiled eggs
and bread and butter. It was the quality of these simple ingredients
that made the occasion memorable. The eggs were so good that I am
ashamed to say how many of them I consumed. "La plus belle fille du
monde," as t