e steps of the little mill where he
lodged, exchange blithe greetings with the maids of honour as they
tripped gaily to the _laiterie_ to play at butter-making, or sauntered
across the rustic bridge on their way to gather new-laid eggs at the
farm.

The sunset glamour had faded and the premature dusk of mid-winter was
falling as, approaching nearer, we saw where the roof-thatch had
decayed, where the insidious finger of Time had crumbled the stone
walls. A chilly wind arising, moaned through the naked trees. The shadow
of the guillotine seemed to brood oppressively over the scene, and,
shuddering, we hastened away.

[Illustration: To the Place of Rest]

CHAPTER VI

ICE-BOUND

Even in the last days of December rosebuds had been trying to open on
the standard bushes in the sheltered rose-garden of the Palace. But with
the early nights of January a sudden frost seized the town in its icy
grip, and, almost before we had time to realise the change of weather,
pipes were frozen and hot-water bottles of strange design made their
appearance in the upper corridors of the hotel. The naked cherubs in the
park basins stood knee-deep in ice, skaters skimmed the smooth surface
of the canal beyond the _tapis vert_, and in a twinkling Versailles
became a town peopled by gnomes and brownies whose faces peeped quaintly
from within conical hoods.

Soldiers drew their cloak-hoods over their uniform caps. Postmen went
their rounds thus snugly protected from the weather. The doddering old
scavengers, plying their brooms among the great trees of the avenues,
bore so strong a resemblance to the pixies who lurk in caves and woods,
that we almost expected to see them vanish into some crevice in the
gnarled roots of the trunks. Even the tiny acolytes trotting gravely in
the funeral processions had their heads and shoulders shrouded in the
prevailing hooded capes.

[Illustration: While the Frost Holds]

To us, accustomed though we were to an inclement winter climate, the
chill seemed intense. So frigid was the atmosphere that the first step
taken from the heated hotel hall into the outer air felt like putting
one's face against an iceberg. All wraps of ordinary thickness appeared
incapable of excluding the cold, and I sincerely envied the countless
wearers of the dominant Capuchin cloaks.

[Illustration: The Postman's Wrap]

Our room was many-windowed, and no matter how high Karl piled the logs,
nor how close we sat to the fl