untain, along which misty masses of vapour swept hurriedly,
disclosing as they passed some tiny patch of cultivation struggling for
life amid granite rocks and abrupt precipices. As the sun grew stronger,
the grey tints became brown and the brown grew purple, while certain
dark lines that tracked their way from summit to base began to shine
like silver, and showed the course of many a mountain torrent tumbling
and splashing towards that little lake that lay calm as a mirror
below. Immediately beneath my window was the garden of the chateau--
a succession of terraces descending to the very river. The quaint yew
hedges carved into many a strange device, the balustrades half hidden by
flowering shrubs and creepers, the marble statues peeping out here and
there, trim and orderly as they looked, were a pleasant feature of
the picture, and heightened the effect of the desolate grandeur of the
distant view. The very swans that sailed about on the oval pond told of
habitation and life, just as the broad expanded wing that soared above
the mountain peak spoke of the wild region where the eagle was king.

My musings were suddenly brought to a close by a voice on the terrace
beneath. It was that of a man who was evidently, from his pace, enjoying
his morning's promenade under the piazza of the chateau, while he hummed
a tune to pass away the time:--

'"Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why?
Whose business----"

Holloa, there, Francois, ain't they stirring yet? Why, it's past six
o'clock!'

The person addressed was a serving-man, who in the formidable attire of
an English groom--in which he was about as much at home as a coronation
champion feels in plate armour--was crossing the garden towards the
stables.

'No, sir; the count won't start before eight.'

'And when do we breakfast?'

'At seven, sir.'

'The devil! another hour--

"Why, soldiers, why Should we be-----"

I say, Francois, what horse do they mean for Mademoiselle Laura to-day?'

'The mare she rode on Wednesday, sir. Mademoiselle liked her very much.'

'And what have they ordered for the stranger that came the night before
last--the gentleman who was robbed----'

'I know, I know, sir; the roan, with the cut on her knee.'

'Why, she's a mad one! she's a runaway!'

'So she is, sir; but then monsieur is an Englishman, and the count says
he 'll soon tame the roan filly.'

'"Why, soldiers, why-