anion. She had lived a great deal in
Paris, in the Protestant coterie, which was very intellectual and
cultivated. The salons of the Duchesse de Broglie, Mmes. de Stael,
d'Haussonville, Guizot, were most interesting and recherches, very
exclusive and very serious, but a centre for all political and
literary talk. I have often heard my husband say some of the best
talkers in society s'etaient formes dans ces salons, where, as young
men, they listened modestly to all the brilliant conversation going on
around them.

It was an exception when we found anyone at home when we called in the
neighbourhood, and when we did, it was evident that afternoon visits
were a rarity. We did get in one cold November afternoon, and our
visit was a sample of many others that we paid.

The door was opened by a footman struggling into his coat, with a
handful of faggots in his arms. He ushered us through several bare,
stiff, cold rooms (proportions handsome enough) to a smaller salon,
which the family usually occupied. Then he lighted a fire (which
consisted principally of smoke) and went to summon his mistress. The
living-room was just as bare and stiff as the others, no trace of
anything that looked like habitation or what we should consider
comfort--no books nor work nor flowers (that, however, is
comparatively recent in France). I remember quite well Mme.
Casimir-Perier telling me that when she went with her husband to St.
Petersburg about fifty years ago, one of the things that struck her
most in the Russian salons, was the quantity of green plants and cut
flowers--she had never seen them in France. There were often fine
pictures, tapestries, and furniture, all the chairs in a row against
the wall.

[Illustration: Then he lighted a fire.]

Our visits were always long, as most of the chateaux were at a certain
distance, and we were obliged to stay an hour and a half, sometimes
longer, to rest the horses. It was before the days of five-o'clock
tea. A tray was brought in with sweet wine (Malaga or Vin de Chypre)
and cakes (ladies'-fingers) which evidently had figured often before
on similar occasions. Conversation languished sometimes, though Mme.
A. was wonderful, talking so easily about everything. In the smaller
places, when people rarely went to Paris, it ran always in the same
grooves--the woods, the hunting (very good in the Villers-Cotterets
forest), the schoolmaster (so difficult to get proper books for the
children to read),