straight to his master, and
paid no heed to my words.

The doors flew open, and I was ushered into a saloon curiously full of
pale light, which did not culminate on any spot, nor proceed from any
centre, nor flicker with any motion of the air, but filled every nook
and corner, making all things deliciously distinct; different from our
light of gas or candle, as is the difference between a clear southern
atmosphere and that of our misty England.

At the first moment, my arrival excited no attention, the apartment was
so full of people, all intent on their own conversation. But my friend
the porter went up to a handsome lady of middle age, richly attired in
that antique manner which fashion has brought round again of late years,
and, waiting first in an attitude of deep respect till her attention
fell upon him, told her my name and something about me, as far as I
could guess from the gestures of the one and the sudden glance of the
eye of the other.

She immediately came towards me with the most friendly actions of
greeting, even before she had advanced near enough to speak. Then,--and
was it not strange?--her words and accent were that of the commonest
peasant of the country. Yet she herself looked high-bred, and would have
been dignified had she been a shade less restless, had her countenance
worn a little less lively and inquisitive expression. I had been poking
a good deal about the old parts of Tours, and had had to understand the
dialect of the people who dwelt in the Marche au Vendredi and similar
places, or I really should not have understood my handsome hostess, as
she offered to present me to her husband, a henpecked, gentlemanly man,
who was more quaintly attired than she in the very extreme of that style
of dress. I thought to myself that in France, as in England, it is the
provincials who carry fashion to such an excess as to become ridiculous.

However, he spoke (still in the _patois_) of his pleasure in making my
acquaintance, and led me to a strange uneasy easy-chair, much of a piece
with the rest of the furniture, which might have taken its place without
any anachronism by the side of that in the Hotel Cluny. Then again
began the clatter of French voices, which my arrival had for an instant
interrupted, and I had leisure to look about me. Opposite to me sat a
very sweet-looking lady, who must have been a great beauty in her youth,
I should think, and would be charming in old age, from the sweetness of