hrough his
belt.

"De Lacy, at your service, my lord," he announced as he made a deep bow.

I extended my hand, somewhat at a loss to know how to greet my father's
steward, who was clearly a man of some importance and who, but for me,
would be owner of Rougemont.

Instead of shaking hands, he dropped on one knee and kissed my hand--a
proceeding which embarrassed me very much.

On my motioning him to rise, he did so with a lithe grace: "I suppose
you want to change your strange clothes, my lord, and see your
quarters?"

I nodded and introduced Wrexler. De Lacy bowed. "Monsieur Wrexler would
like to be near you?" Then he added, "We have some twenty or thirty
suites, my lord."

Wrexler said he would prefer to be close at hand, and together we
followed de Lacy up the marble stairway into a new world.

Wrexler was at ease immediately in his doublet and hose. The rich,
embroidered garments seemed to suit him as modern clothes never did. He
looked handsomer than ever. He also told me that the costume of the
Medici was becoming to me, and truly when I caught a glimpse of myself
mirrored in the pond--for the chateau did not possess a large mirror--I
was not ill pleased with the result. But, by the end of the week, I
still felt strange in my new attire, whereas Wrexler from the beginning
wore his as if to the manor born.

But I anticipate. That first night we donned two of the outfits which
the valet whom de Lacy introduced to me had put out. Our own clothes
disappeared, and much to my annoyance, with them my cigarettes.

* * * * *

We ate dinner in state, upon a raised dais at one end of a great hall.
At either side below us were long, narrow tables filled with people.
Dressed also in keeping with the period, they made a wonderful picture
and comprised, I supposed, my court or retinue. De Lacy presented me to
them with a flourish, and they all filed by and kissed my hand, then
went to their places.

When Wrexler and I were seated, they too sat down. When I began to talk,
they filled the hall with gay chattering. From a minstrel gallery at the
other end of the room came soft strains of music.

De Lacy stood behind me pouring my wine. One thing I noticed was that in
the whole room--and there must have been two hundred people at
least--there were no older men or women. In fact, de Lacy was the oldest
of the lot; the others ranged from about sixteen to thirty.

"How did my father get a