llI$tSIs^ ~*i .* vAaP*, rJ f^ >*'* ;w>1 ***r*^ Kittt!3Z9i-T!ivi*xf*>*'^t 8! 3? v ~-v y - ' c'i . - A WEEK IN A FRENCH COUNTRY-HOUSE BY ADELAIDE SAF^TOF^IS. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 1867. t~ : t {The right of Translation is reserved.] } S V TO DEAR MONSIEUR CHARLES AND MADAME OLYMPE, IN MEMORY OF THE MANY HAPPY DAYS PASSED AT MARNY-LES-MONTS. A WEEK IN A FRENCH COUNTRY-HOUSE. PART I. " HERE'S a letter that concerns you, Bessy," said my mother one morning a week or two ago, as I came into our little breakfast-room at Linton. " And we say you're to go," said aunt Emily. " Oh, aunt Emily ! go where ? " I exclaimed in utter despair, and feeling ready to cry with fatigue at the bare idea of a move in any direction. " Olympe has written," began my mother, hold- ing up a thin letter with a yellow stamp upon it. " Yes, and you are to go," once more broke in my impetuous old aunt Emily. The letter was from the Comtesse de Caradec, in answer to one B 2202970 2 A Week in a French Country-House. from my poor dear mother, who it seems had been writing all her alarms about my health to her old friend and pupil ; and now, as soon as I could get aunt Emily to promise silence, the letter was read out to me. It was cordial and affectionate, as all her letters are, and contained the -kind proposal that I should go over to Marny-les-Monts, and try what a fortnight's entire change would do towards toning me up, and shaking me out of the languor, mental and physical, which had invaded me of late, and against which, for the first time in my life, I felt quite powerless to do battle. The fact is, that my dear mother's illness, coming as it did, after a most exhausting term of hard work, had quite knocked me down. 1 had had a good many pupils and one or two schools also to attend during the last season ; and the confinement of the life, together with the painful strain upon the nerves, which I suppose teaching music will always be to me, to the end of time, had already left me feeble and in want of rest, when mother was seized, first with bronchitis, then with inflammation of the lungs ; and the terrible anxiety about her, combined with all those days spent in her hot room, and all those nights passed An Invitation. by her sick-bed, had prostrated me still farther. Then came our rriove down to aunt Emily's cottage in Devonshire, from which I had hoped wonders ; but while it seemed to be bringing mother round beautifully, and making her quite fat and rosy again, I was dwindling away into an absolute shadow ; I could not walk a step without violent palpitations ; I fainted* dead away after being out for ten minutes in the sun, and when aunt Emily spoke a little louder or sharper to me than usual, if it was only to say good morning, I began to cry. It was such a new state of things for me, that my two dear old guardian angels were getting quite troubled about me, and so after a good long discussion and many useless efforts on my part to persuade them to let me stay where I was and be quiet, it was finally decided that Madame de Caradec's kind invitation was to be accepted, and that I was to go abroad for the first time in my life, and see what entire change of air and scene would do for me. Abroad ! everything has been brought so close to one of late years by the increased rapidity of travelling, and every one is so continually on the move in consequence, that nothing short of 4 A Week in a French Country- House. Australia, or the Himalayas, answers at all now to the important sound of the word "abroad." Italy, Germany, Switzerland, are become as familiar to everybody as Portman Square or Piccadilly, and my " abroad " meant even less than all this : a bit of France just off the high-road no more and within ten hours of England ; it would take me very little longer to get there than it had taken us to come down to aunt Emily's. Madame de Caradec's mother was an English- woman, but she herself was born in France, and married there, and has always lived there, both before and since her widowhood. Her only brother, who came to her when her husband died, and has remained with her ever since, I had heard of as entirely Anglomane in his tastes and habits. They buy English horses and keep English grooms, and I believe they even prefer English cookery ; and she drives her own pony-chaise, and talks English better than I do. Oh, was it worth while to cross that horrid Channel, and no doubt be odiously ill, to go away from my own who love me, among a parcel of strangers, to find only another inferior sort of England ? Oh, was it worth while ? especially for a single week ; for Good-by. 5 longer I was quite determined I would not stay ? I did not say this, however, either to mother or to aunt Emily, for I saw that they had quite set their hearts on the project, and so I submitted with the best grace I was able to muster ; saw my new carmelite, my best black silk, and a white muslin for evenings, put into my trunk, and finally, accompanied by old Margery, who had been with us ever since I was born, and who, having also once spent a single week in Paris when she was six years old, was considered likely to " be of use to me " on my journey, I took leave of my dear ones with a weary heart and watery eyes, and set forth upon my travels. I saw my dear mother with her slender figure, her silver hair, and sweet moonlight face, shading her eyes with her hand, and aunt Emily, who looked like a peony with a grizzled crop, both standing in the porch to look after us as long as we were in sight ; but the turn in the road by the Angler's Home soon came, and hid us from each other, and then I felt fairly launched indeed and very desolate. " Never mind, dear," said Margery, wiping a sympathetic drop from the tip of her pointed red nose. " I know shpow means hat." 6 A Week in a French Country-House. We crossed on the i8th of October. It was a lovely day, and the steamer was crowded with passengers. It was too fine, and the sea too smooth, for any one to be ill, so I had the ladies' cabin all to myself, which I infinitely preferred to being in the midst of all those unfamiliar faces. I hitched myself up into a very comfortable berth, close to an open port-hole, through which I watched the great green swirls of water glittering in the sun, and the passage did not seem long. When we landed at Boulogne, the sky was so blue, the shops all looked so different ; the fishwomen, with their short petticoats and their baskets on their backs, so curious ; everything seemed so sparkling and unaccustomed, that I w T ould not get into a carriage, but taking my bag in my hand walked with Ma/gery the few steps from the boat to the station. " Would you allow me, muddam porty-bag, muddam ? " said a voice at my side. I turned and recognized an Englishman^vith a hot and anxious visage, who had just crossed over with us, and who was making for the same destination as ourselves. " Thank you," I answered ; " I can carry it quite easily ; it's not at all heavy." " Oh, Lord, mum ! " ejaculated my friend with T Hautbuisson. effusion, " what a blessing it is to hear one's own language again ! " I felt inclined to advise him to venture no farther if he already experienced mal du pays to such an extent, but to go back and wait patiently at the pier until the next steamer started for England. We had two blooming young English ladies in our carriage, accompanied by a surly brother in one corner, who was far too satisfied with himself and too discontented with everything else not to have been a freeborn Briton. Just before arriving at the junction where Margery and I were to branch off from the great Paris main line for Marny-les-Monts, " Preparez vos billets, messieurs et mesdames, s'il vous plait," said the conducteur. " Stoopid ass ! " remarked the Englishman, with sullen scorn ; " in England they'd have said ' Tickets ! ' and there'd have been an end of it." \Vhen we arrived at Hautbuisson (the station at which we had to get out), I found that the Countess had expected us by an earlier train, and had sent her carriage to meet us. Not finding us, however, it had gone home again, and we had to wait some time while another vehicle was being r i 8 A Week in a French Country- House. procured for us, so that it was already quite dark when we started for Marny-les-Monts quite too dark to be able to see anything whatever of the scenery around us. I only felt that suddenly our road took us through the yet thicker black of trees ; then again we emerged, and rolled and bumped with a muffled sound over a heavy wooden bridge ; toiled up a sandy hill to the lights that were glimmering on the summit ; heard a noise of loud voices and foreign tongues all vociferating together ; and then I suddenly found myself lifted, I hardly knew how, out of the carriage, and into a tall and potent embrace, enveloped in which I was conveyed along, with my feet hardly reaching the ground, into a brilliant drawing-room. Here a tall gentleman bowed to me, who was presented to me as " my brother Charles." He turned with a kind anxiety .to my conductress, and said, " Olympe, what will you do about the dinner?" ;< She will dine in her own room," answered the Countess, with despotic melancholy. " But perhaps she would rather come in with us at once, as we are still at table," he suggested, . - a OO in a low voice. Arrival at Marny-les-Monts. " She will dine in her own room," repeated the Countess. " Are you quite sure that you would like that best ? " he again attempted, turning to me. " She will dine in her own room," imperturbably remarked the Countess, without the slightest shade of difference in her intonation. I was quite too shy to venture any opinion on the subject myself; moreover, I had an intuitive conviction that it was not expected of me : so, dazed with the sudden light and the new faces, and with the strong arm round me, I was carried, still upon the very tips of my toes, up the staircase, and finally deposited in a cheery little chintz bed- room, where, after a hearty kiss of welcome, I was left, much to my relief, to slip on my dressing- gowgn, put my feet up, and rest both the spirit and the fle,sh, which were equally tired out. Presently, while Margery was arranging my things for the night, the cup of tea, which was all that I had asked for, was brought to me. As I .lay with closed lids upon the sofa, I heard Margery say, " Here on table tray put ; " as if she thought that broken English, uttered in a very decisive manner, and with a break between each io A Week in a French Country -House. word, answered quite the same purpose as French. " Does mademoiselle wish for anything else ? " inquired the little maid. " Toody swee," Margery observed, with perfect assurance. " Do you speak French ? " the little maid asked her, with a smile. " Oh, wee," responded the undaunted Margery, adding " Shpow ! " in what I thought rather a menacing way, as she kept nodding her head triumphantly at the girl, and giving sharp taps to her own bonnet, by way of convincing her then and there that she knew what was what. Fortunately an Irish nurse, who had lived with Madame de Caradec ever since the birth of her daughter, just at this juncture arrived opportunely to the rescue, and Margery, having duly attended to my comfort, was borne off by her new friend to be made comfortable herself. Later in the evening, just as I had finished writing to mother to tell her of my safe arrival, I heard a quick, decided step coming along the passage, and a hurried little tap at the door. " Come in," I said, and a charming child of about i _______ Jeanne. 1 1 sixteen made her appearance. She was short for her age, but did not look so, from her erect carriage, and from the magnificent way in which her head was set upon her shoulders. She was brilliantly fair, with heaps of golden hair, which she wore turned back from her clear broad forehead. The charm of her face consisted in its great nobility. The expression was one of mixed decision and sweetness ; and there was altogether a sort of veiled power about her, which, combined with her childish aspect, made her exceedingly attractive. " Maman sends me to ask," she said in her sweet broken English, " will you more tea? or some sirop, perhaps ? Have you, indeed, all you want?" " I see you are Jeanne," said I, holding out my hands to her, and drawing her down on the sofa by my side. " Yes, I am Jeanne," she replied in French. " I had been out with the hounds all day, and was late for dinner, and dressing in a hurry when you came ; that was why you did not see me when you arrived. But Maman was there, I hope, and Charles, and Rene, to receive you ? " " I saw one gentleman in the drawing-room your uncle Charles, I believe ?" 1** -Hr- 12 A Week in a French Country- House. " Yes," said Jeanne ; " that was the Marquis." " And who is Rene ? " asked I. " Rene is a cousin of Maman's, who comes here to hunt for three months every winter. De Saldes is his other name Rene de Saldes. He always does what he pleases, and is never in time for any- thing. But the Marquis has to mind his /'s and l^'s, or hm hm ! " and she screwed up her mouth and shook her head with a funny little sagacious expression. " And you," said I, laughing, " are not obliged to mind your /'s and ^'s, but come down when you like ? " " That depends," she answered. " When Rene comes out with us, I never get a scolding : there is a sort of complicated family machinery about it all, that it is a little difficult to understand at first. I protect the Marquis, and Rene protects me : not, indeed, that I need much protection ; for they all of them spoil me very perfectly in their different ways, and Maman most of all, although she affects to bring me up with the utmost severity. But I must go now, for Maman desired me not to stay and tire you with my gossiping. I hunt to-morrow with our own hounds; but I shall Madame Olympe. 13 have the pleasure of seeing you at breakfast before we go." Then bidding me good-night, she left me to the enjoyment of the most perfect bed that ever rested weary limbs. The next morning I was awoke by feeling something indescribably soft, cool, and fragrant touching my cheek ; and I opened my eyes into a large bunch of dewy, fresh-gathered roses. Madame Olympe was standing by my bedside with a heap of exquisite flowers in her hands, with which she proceeded to deck the jars on the chimney-piece and on the table. She looked very grand and beautiful, enveloped from head to foot in a great white burnous, which fell in thick heavy folds round her stately person, and was altogether a most satisfactory morning vision, with the white hood over her head shading and softening her stern face, as she bent over her many-coloured treasures and arranged them silently. When she had filled the vases, she came and sat down on the foot of my bed. " How are you," she said, " after your journey ? rested ? It was much better for you to dine in your own room you would have felt II* -f- 14 A Week in a French Country-House. shy and uncomfortable the first evening with strangers." " Have you people staying with you now ? " I inquired. " Yes : we have Rene de Saldes, Monsieur Kiowski, and Monsieur Berthier. The first is my cousin, the last two are painter friends of mine. They will amuse you, they make such a contrast to each other. The one is so rapid in everything he does, and the other so slow. When they come together their differences not only appear more pronounced, but actually become so. They act unconsciously upon each other, and Monsiur Kiowski rushes on like a small mill- stream, while Monsieur Berthier takes an hour to say the slightest thing. I am also expecting some time to day Lady Blankeney and her daughter, and Miss Hamilton." " My dear Madame Olympe," said I, " I should never have had the courage to come if I had thought to find so many people here." " Oh," she answered, " you needn't feel at all alarmed, : there is only one person to be fright- ened at in the whole lot, and that is Miss Hamilton. Lady Blankeney is only a harmless, Company Coming, 15 silly sort of little old fly : if you will but let her flutter and buzz, she will be quite content ; she does all the talking herself. I rather like it and never think of answering her ; and Maria is the quietest of the quiet, and properest of the proper pure English growth a bashful, blushing, infantile old maid of nine-and-thirty the thing don't exist with us. They are both great bores, and I am sorry they should happen to be coming just in this particular time, because I should have liked you to become acquainted with Rene de Saldes, and he is already gone ; knowing they were to be here to-day, he fled early in the morning. 1 am rather curious to see how they will make it out with Ursula Hamilton ; she must startle Lady Blankeney occasionally, I should think." " What is the tie between them ? Is she any relation of theirs ? " I inquired. " There is a sort of distant cousinship," an- swered Madame Olympe. " Miss Hamilton's father had once a good fortune, which he squan- dered in every conceivable discreditable way, and then went to live for economy, with his little girl, at Florence. He died some time ago, and Ursula *+&? 1 6 A Week in a French Country -House. was left all but destitute. She then, to the horror of all her friends, announced her intention of going on the stage, for which, it appears, she has an immense natural talent when suddenly, by the greatest piece of unlooked-for good luck in the world, a rich old aunt of hers died, and bequeathed her a very large sum of money. So, thank good- ness, she gave up (though I do believe it was rather a contre coeur) the notion of singing in public, and Lady Blankeney, who had been in Italy during all her troubles, and carefully ignored both her and them, flew to her the instant she became an heiress, and is now convoying her to England, where she means to have the honour and glory of producing the new lioness in fashion- able society. I own I'm rather curious to see them together, for ages ago I used to hear about Ursula Hamilton from my cousin, Monsieur de Saldes, who knew her abroad, and she appeared to be anything but an amenable subject, although at that time she was only fifteen or sixteen. But I shall leave you to dress now you needn't hurry, for we don't breakfast till half-past eleven." With that she nodded her head in a friendly way, and strode majestically out of the room. Autumn Sunshine. 17 I had been so thoroughly roused by Madame Olympe's visit, that I got up as soon as she had left me. I unfastened those delicious French windows that open from top to bottom, and seem to let all heaven and earth at once into the room, threw back the outer jalousies, and feasted my eyes upon the landscape. Before me lay the park (a bit of land redeemed from the heart of the forest, and cleared for the dwelling of my hostess) dotted all over with clumps of trees : here and there little screens of delicate young poplars, already turned by the season, quivered their golden leaves in the clear splendours of the autumn blue. At the bottom of the hill lay the river, of which my room commanded three different views as it turned and wound about, all glittering and rippling, and covered, as it were, with an ever-vibrating network of light ; and beyond, stretching up and on for miles and miles around us, was the great ocean of the forest, drenched in deep dews, steeped in warm sunshine, swaying in the sweet morning freshness, and chanting its solemn hymn of gladness to the Lord of all the beauties of the earth. When I was dressed, I went into the drawing- room, where I found Madame Olympe, still in the c HP- IS A Week in a French Country -House. same picturesque costume, assiduously dusting the books upon the table with a feather brush. " This is not much like England after all," thought I. " We have a new servant," she said in a plain- tive tone of voice, " who never touches a thing in the morning, and so I am obliged to go round myself and see to it." " Why, what does she do ? " I inquired ; " lie in bed till this hour ? " " The she is a he, whose name is Hyacinthe, and that is what he does ! " she answered, pointing with her brush to the chandelier. I looked up ; it was a quaint edifice, built entirely of stags' heads and antlers carved in wood, and it was filled from top to bottom with flowers and leaves grouped together in the loveliest way. " Look there and there," she said. I glanced round the room ; in every corner there were heaps and heaps of flowers arranged, with every variety of sword-like rush and feathery plume of grass. " Would you like to see the artist himself? There he is ! " she continued, opening the door Monsieur Berthier. 19 which led out into the hall. Beyond the hall was a large portico, fitted up with sofas and chairs, and here, at a table covered with flowers, sat a short fat man with a turn-up nose, pasty face, and sentimental aspect, dressing a couple of huge vases. These he afterwards brought in and placed triumphantly upon the chimney-piece ; they were entirely filled with the most delicate ferns, intermingled with dark ivy-leaves, which fell over and round the jars in garlands of exquisite grace. At breakfast I was introduced to Monsieur Berthier, a gentleman who looked about fifty-five years old. He was fair, rather bald, and had the gentlest voice and manner in the world. He very kindly endeavoured to put me at my ease by speaking to me in English, but his pronunciation was so peculiar that I could hardly understand what he said which made me much more nervous than I was before. However, they all soon found out that I spoke French without difficulty, and then we got on swimmingly. Monsieur Charles appeared in full hunting costume. He did not wear the green, which is the colour of the Imperial hunt, but a white coat 20 A Week in a French Country -House. with maroon velvet facings : it was extremely picturesque, and very becoming to pretty little Jeanne, who was charmingly got up in the same colours. They called this morning meal their breakfast, but it was to all intents and purposes a regular dinner. There were two large dishes of hot meat, two or three others of cold, hot dressed vegetables, salad, eggs, and all served upon the bare oak table without any table-cloth. At the end where Madame Olympe sat, were the urn and breakfast-service ; but I observed that every- body drank wine-and-water to begin with, and then gradually arrived at tea as a sort of climax, when a most delicious hot heavy pastrycake was handed round, which they ate with an addition of butter and honey that made me expect to see them die on their chairs by my side. It is but fair to add that this breakfast and their dinner are the only meals partaken of in the day. The servants have their breakfast and dinner imme- diately after their masters have done, upon what is left ; the whole domestic machinery seems to me much simpler than our English arrangements. French servants do not eat or drink half so much Monsieur Kiowski. 21 as ours do, and make much fewer difficulties. What complicates matters in England a good deal is the separate life led by the children : this does not exist in France, where the children keep for the most part the same hours with their parents, instead of dining apart and early, as ours do. While we were in the middle of breakfast a figure darted past the window, gesticulating violently this I found was Monsieur Kiowski, who had been out painting and had not heard the breakfast-bell. Presently he rushed in with his sketch-book in his hand : he was quite young, and very pleasant-looking. " Mille pardons ! " he said, hurrying up to Madame Olympe and kissing her hand. " I hadn't any idea it was so late, but I found the most adorable little bit to paint from the boat-house ! When first I got there it was all cool greys and silver tones a perfect Corot with just that little bit of dead tree coming in there you see " (showing her the book) " to give it a red accent ; but when the sun came out the whole aspect altered from minute to minute, so that I was obliged to give it up at last. I must try and get 22 A Week in a French Country -House. up early again to morrow to finish it if possible. Good-morning, Jeanne. Good-morning, Marquis. Good-morning, Berthier. Why didn't you come out and have a go at the river too ? You have no idea how lovely it looked from the inside of the boat-house ; but perfectly adorable ! " (and he sent a kiss into the air rapturously from the tip of his fingers). " Yes, some fiommes de terre sautees, Hyacinthe, if you please." All this came pelting out in a torrent of French, and in a single breath, and I was perfectly dumfoundered when Madame Olympe presented him to me, and he asked me in equally faultless English if I had had a good night and was rested after my journey ? " Mademoiselle does not look as if she had crossed the sea yesterday : were you ill ? " asked Monsieur Berthier in his slow gentle way. " I think the English character never comes out more strongly than on board a steamboat," he con- tinued. " The feeling of decency le convenable is -what English people never lose sight of English women more especially : even the tortures of sea-sickness they manage to control; and retire to some secluded corner with their basin, hoping -HI- Pride goes before a Fall. 23 to shroud from observation an attitude which no amount of will can render graceful or dignified. I saw a vulgar Spaniard once, when I was crossing over to England : he had been making game of a poor Meess, who, with English forethought, had provided herself with a basin before the vessel started. He straddled about on deck with a great chain and a gaudy cane, and said in a swaggering way, ' Look at all these poor wretches who are determined to be ill ! Their precautions are exactly what makes them so ; they are afraid, and give in, and of course are sick immediately ; but if one walks up and down as I do, and smokes as I do, and sings as I do, one is never ill.' He began executing some roulades as the boat steamed out of harbour ; the sea was terrible, and before ten minutes were over, my Spaniard, who had suddenly lapsed into ominous silence and gradually become of a hue the like of which I never beheld before or since on any human countenance, uttered a discordant shriek, and made a violent plunge at a basin he saw upon a bench near him the ship lurched, the basin rolled off, and he rolled after it and lay wallowing there on the ground where he fell, an utterly demoralized 24 A Week in a French Country- House. and disgusting object ; but so miserable and so regardless of all appearances that I assure you he became almost grand through excess of suffering, and the entire absence of self-consciousness. Meess, with her basin in her corner, and all her British dignity, was little by the side of that Spaniard in the agony of his utter self-abandon- ment" We all laughed, but Madame Olympe took the English side of the question and stood up for it very vigorously. Monsieur Berthier turned to me. " Confess that you went downstairs and tried to hide yourself from every one ; you would not be English if you had not done this. I remember at one time of my life having to pass every day the English pastrycook's at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli. I used to see the English Misses there eating cakes, and when I looked in at the window at them (for they were almost always pretty) they took a crumb at a time, but when I passed on, and they thought they were not seen any more, they put enormous pieces injto their mouths, and ate with as much voracity as other people. I used to amuse myself with pretending T/te Start for the Meet. 2 5 to go by, and then coming back stealthily to watch them from the corner of the window, and they always did the same." "Well," said Monsieur Kiowski, "and very right too : you seem to think it ridiculous and unpoetical, but after all, it shows a regard for the feelings of others, and a certain sense of beauty too, which in my humble opinion are qualities rather than defects." Andre now came to say that the horses were at the door, and we all went out upon the perron to see them start. Jeanne embraced her mother, and the .Marquis kissed his sister's hand before they mounted. The horses were English, and very handsome beasts, and the Marquis's tall slight figure in his gay uniform, and with his great hunting-horn slung over his shoulder, looked uncommonly well as they passed in and out through the trees, with the sun shining full upon them. How I envied them their ride, I, who could not even walk ! " I am sorry I cannot drive you to the meet to-day," said Madame Olympe to me, " because these people are coming. However, you must see it one day before you go ; it is very different 26 A Week in a French Country-House. from the English hunting, but it is very pretty in the forest, and we can follow it perfectly in a carriage and see all the sport." While we were still standing on the perron watching the receding figures as they went down the hill, we saw a little black object with a white head-dress flitting swiftly towards the house. As she came nearer to us, I saw that it was a Sister of -Charity. "It is the Soeur Marie," said Madame Olympe, going forward to meet her. "The school-children are under her direction and she is the good angel of the neighbouring village. Good-morning, my sister. Are you come to see me about the school- feast, or to tell me of some of your poor people who want help ? Will you not come in and have some breakfast ? " " Oh, no, Madame la Comtesse," said the little sister. " I breakfasted long ago ; besides, I must not eat such dainty things as you would give me in your goodness : my wicked body must be mortified, and I must keep a tight rein over the sinful appetites of the flesh." We could hardly help laughing at this speech proceeding from the mouth of the poor sister. -HI- Sceur Marie. 27 She was a spare, small old creature, mere skin and bone, with a pale, childish, toothless face, small brown watery eyes, and a feeble beseeching voice. Her whole figure had something eager, anxious, and imploring, in its expression, and her quick gait and restless activity, combined with the flutter of her draperies, and a way she had of leaning slightly forward, always somehow gave her the appearance of flying. " Well, but a glass of wine and a little bit of cake, my sister at least that after your long walk ? Surely that comes under the head of necessary sustenance ? " " No, no, my dear lady," answered the little sister, with childish earnestness ; " I must wrestle with temptation, and overthrow my rebellious passions." " And why are you not more warmly clad, Sceur Marie ? " continued Madame Olympe. " The day is treacherous warm in the sun and cold in the shade. What have you done with the woollen handkerchief I gave you to keep those little bones of yours warm ? " " Oh, Madame la 'Comtesse must not be angry," said the little creature, looking imploringly 28 ^4 J'F^ z a French Country-House. up in her face, "but old Nanon has had her rheumatism so badly of late, that I gave it to her. Madame knows how I value her kindness, but the poor Nanon was so suffering, and, for the moment, I really had no use for it." " That is always the way," said Madame Olympe, turning to me ; " she never keeps any- thing for herself. However, I do hope that the india-rubber bottle which you brought over for me will be of some comfort to her during the winter ; perhaps, as that is neither food nor cloth- ing, I may be able to persuade her to keep' it." She then sent for one of those india-rubber bags which she had begged me to bring from England for her, and when the servant had fetched it she gave it to the old sister saying, "Here, my sister, is something to make you comfortable in the winter." Sceur Marie took it with overflowing gratitude, but evidently without having the slightest idea what was to be done with it, or how it was to be made use of. Madame Olympe watched her for a minute or two, and then, finding that she was too timid and humble to make any inquiry, she proceeded to explain to her the method of un- -Hl* t A Morning Stroll. 29 screwing it, putting in the hot water, and screwing it up again. Soeur Marie was in an ecstasy of delight. " There ! " said Madame Olympe. " On cold winter nights, when it is full of nice hot water, and you are in bed, my sister, you see you can clap it here or here or here or just wherever you please ! " and she whisked it about all over her own body as she spoke, with a droll unconscious- ness, and a dear, benevolent beaming face, quite unlike any expression I had thought her counten- ance capable of. It was charming to see her unbend so completely, and become so sweet and tender to the poor flittering little nun. Presently they went in together, to talk over a feast that Madame de Caradec was going to give the school-children, and Monsieur Berthier and I went strolling slowly round the house. It was quite the most enjoyable dwelling I ever was in : I believe, from the fact that it was entirely devoid of any pretension to architectural importance. Wherever a pretty view or sunny aspect invited one to sit, and look or bask, as the case might be, great wide balconies had been thrown out, with awnings moveable at pleasure ; 30 A Week in a French Country-House. in other places, there were cool verandahs, with seats, for those who preferred the shade. I expressed my approbation of the exterior of the house to Monsieur Berthier. Just then a jalousie was thrown vehemently open, and Monsieur Kiowski's head appeared at the window above us. " You have delicious weather for your little walk," he remarked to me, with great urbanity ; then in French to Monsieur Berthier, " I envy you, mon cher, you who are able to enjoy your holiday in peace." " I think I have some little right to enjoy it," returned the other ; " I have earned it by working hard enough, I am sure. I was grinding away at the wheel until the very last moment before I came here." " But at all events," said Monsieur Kiowski, " when you have done, you have done. Monsieur has given his lessons, Monsieur walks, Monsieur talks, Monsieur takes his leisure ; while I, after working like a galley-slave in order to get the underpainting of my picture done before coming over, have brought with me two drawings, which I am absolutely obliged to finish by the end of this week, besides any quantity of letters which I First Impressions. 3 1 have always delayed answering, from a futile idea that I should find time at Marny-les-Monts for everything I wanted to do. What a lovely day it is ! " He then again said to me in English, " How I should like to come down and bask in the sun ! " " Why don't you come ? what is it that you are doing at the present moment ? " I asked rather satirically. " Writing my letters," he answered with per- fect naivetd, leaning his arms upon the window-sill and looking out at us. " Well," said Monsieur Berthier, as we walked on, " and the interior of the house ? You do not say what impression that makes upon you ? " " I have been here such an instant of time," I answered, " that I hardly dare trust my own im- pressions. How striking little Jeanne is ! She seems to me like a clasped book : if ever I get the clasps open I'm sure that I shall like what I shall read ; but she is not easy to know, and I should think did not readily attach herself to strangers. However, she is exactly what I expected to find her, from all her mother had written about her to my mother." 32 A Week in a French Country -House. " And Madame de Caradec," he continued, " is she also what you expected to find her ? " " No," said I, laughing, " for I was told that she was rather imposing, and I find her positively alarm- ing, and I was told that she had been handsome and I think her perfectly beautiful still don't you ? " " I see that you are very impressionable," he said, smiling at my enthusiasm, " but of course I see her differently who have known her from her childhood. Ah ! that first youth ! how beautiful it is ! It has a charm a mystery so soon lost, and that nothing afterwards, however fine, can compensate for! at least such is my opinion. You think her beautiful now : then just imagine what she must have been at sixteen, when I first knew her. She was a famous beauty then, I assure you ! You know I was her drawing-master, and I shall never forget the day that I gave her her first lesson. I went there never yet having seen her, and I was perfectly bewildered (I too was young then) when I beheld this vision of heavenly beauty before me ! Madame your mother was sitting working in the room at the time. I knew her very well Madame Hope and I were great friends." A Story of Disappointed Love. -53 " I have constantly heard mother say so," said I, "and it has been a real delight to me to come among the people I have so often heard her speak of with affection. But did Madame de Caradec always look as proud and sad as she does now ? " I inquired. " No," answered Monsieur Berthier. " That expression came with trouble and with time : it dates back to an old story of disappointed attach- ment. Did Madame Hope never mention Mon- sieur Hamilton to you ? " he asked, after a slight pause. " He used to come to the house a great deal during the time that she was in France. Well, it was for him that Madame de Caradec once had a very profound sentiment. He made no sign, however, of any corresponding feeling, beyond seeming to admire her very much ; so milch, indeed, that everybody was quite surprised that he did not come forward and offer to marry her, but he did not, and it was then that she first began to look proud and hard. She remained single courted, followed, and adored as she was, until she was seven-and-twenty ; and then, to the amazement of every one, as you may conceive, she suddenly chose from among all her suitors the old D 34 A Week in a French Country-House. Comte de Caradec, who was at least sixty when she accepted him. He was a charming old man, and very fond and proud of her, and I think she might have been happy, or at all events tolerably contented with her life, if unluckily at her father's death (which took place seven or eight years after she was married) she had not found amongst his papers a letter from her old love, declaring his feeling for her, and containing a proposal of marriage. They had kept it from her never consulted her never even given her the little comfort of knowing that he had really cared for her. After this discovery, she had a long dangerous illness, through which her poor old husband nursed her with the tenderest devotion ; but though through his care she eventually recovered, everything like happiness was at an end, and she became at once and for ever the stern melancholy woman that you see her now." " And what became of Colonel Hamilton ? " I inquired, eagerly. " Oh, the brilliant colonel went abroad and ran away with an Italian prima donna, who died soon after, leaving him an only daughter : that is the Miss Hamilton who is coming to-day. I shall be Colonel Hamilton. 35 very glad to see her again I used to see a great deal of her at Florence." " What sort of man was Colonel Hamilton ? " said I. " Were you acquainted with him ? " " Yes," answered Monsieur Berthier. " He passed a considerable portion of his time in Paris; but I own he always appeared to me to be per- fectly uninteresting." " Was he handsome ? " said I. " He was thought so in the fashionable world," he replied ; " and I have observed that that is a thing which always goes a very long way with your sex ; they seldom have the courage to admire what is not generally admired by the women of their acquaintance. I confess I thought him rather insignificant-looking myself; he used to dress in the most exaggerated height of the fashion, and always looked as if he had just walked out of the Jo^^,rnal des Modes" " But," said I, " surely there must have been something remarkable about him to make a woman of that character care for him so much. Was he clever in any way, or amusing ? " " No," answered Monsieur Berthier ; " he was dull, unoriginal, and commonplace ; and I own I D 2 36 A Week in a French Country -House. never myself could understand the attraction he had for her." Here he paused and looked at the landscape, and then added with a gentle sigh, " Perhaps she had seen him in his uniform." We were passing once more under Monsieur Kiowski's window, and he popped out his head again. " Have you been as far as the stables, Miss Hope ? " he inquired. I told him that I had not yet, whereupon he addressed Monsieur Berthier. " Monsieur Berthier, have you seen the stables since you have been here this time ? There is a Virginia creeper already turned crimson, growing up the wall, and all over the roof, which is too wonderfully beautiful ! That crimson against the stone-colour, and the red of the leaf upon the red of the tiles, make the most divine harmony I ever beheld ! " " Will you go and see it ? " said Monsieur Berthier to me. I was beginning to feel rather tired, so I declined. " I advise you to go and see that, mon cher," continued Mdnsieur Kiowski ; " it is marvellously Les Distractions de Monsieur Kiowski. 37 fine. There," he said, craning his neck out of the window, until I was afraid he would fall. " When I stretch out like that, I just get a corner of the foliage gleaming like rubies against the blue sky." He then held up his hand to try the value of the flesh-coloured tone against the light, and added to me " What a delicious air, to be sure ! un venti- cello che consola ! I really think I must come down." " Why don't you ? " said I, once more. " Are you working very hard at the present moment ? " " Hlas ! " said he, with a sigh. " What at ?" asked I. " At one of my drawings," he answered quite seriously. " Do tell me," I inquired of Monsieur Berthier, " of what nation Monsieur Kiowski is ? " " English," he replied ; " of Polish origin, I fancy, but his family is English, and so is he." " Is not his French quite wonderful ? " said I. " Yes," he answered, " but not more so, I believe, than his Italian and German. I have heard Germans say they should have taken him for a German." " Ah ! imagine what happens to me ! " screamed ! *fh 38 A Week in a French Country -House. Madame Olympe from the house ; " such a telegram from Lady Blankeney ! " She hurried out in fits of laughter, with the paper in her hand. It was as follows : " Lady Blankeney, Hotel Bristol, Paris, to Madame la Comtesse de Caradec, a Marny-les- Monts, pres Champenay, Oise. Dearest Countess in despair we bring a fiddler too dreadful so shocked pardon." " One of Ursula's queer artist friends evi- dently," said Madame Olympe, " or Lady Blan- keney would not have thought it necessary to apologize : some ill-combed genius that she has picked up abroad and brought along with her, no doubt. The question is, where on earth I am to lodge him ? I haven't a corner to spare ; I have been obliged to put Madame Simon, the house- keeper, who is ill, into Jeanne's room, in order to give her more air ; and Jeanne already sleeps with me. There would be Rene's room, but then he is so uncertain that I never dare make use of it he might get bored in Paris, you know," turning to Monsieur Berthier, " and come back at any moment. There's no use in telegraphing back to say I can't take the fiddler in, for they must - A A Difficulty Surmounted. 39 already have started. Monsieur Kiowski only goes away on Wednesday ; what on earth am I to do ? " " Dear Madame Olympe," said I, " do pray make some use of my room. I see that there is a sofa-bed in it ; why shouldn't you put Miss Blan- keney or Miss Hamilton into my bed and let me sleep on that ? You know the cabinet de toilette affords every sort of convenience for double dressing." This was an obvious arrangement to propose. My room was large and cheery, with only the bed in it to prevent it from looking like a pretty sitting-room, and beyond, opening into it, there was another smaller room, with all the washing and dressing appurtenances kept completely to themselves. " You save my life ! " said Madame Olympe. " Miss Blankeney is frightened to death if she is not quite close to her mother; but Ursula was to have had the little room next to yours. We will stick the fiddler in there, and put Ursula up with you, since you are good enough to have her. She shall sleep on the sofa, though I won't have you turned out of your comfortable bed for any 4