entiful sensation, though, in the stories the Chauffeulier could
tell of Napoleon's battles and adventures in this neighbourhood. I
listened to them eagerly, especially to that which covered his falling
into a marsh while fighting the Austrians, and standing there, unable to
get out, while the battle of Arcole raged around him. We were at the
point of the rescue and the victory of the French, when we arrived at
another gateway, another octroi, another city, to enter which was like
driving straight into an old, old picture.

In a long street of palaces, all with an elusive family resemblance to
one another, we paused for consultation. This was Vicenza, the
birthplace and beloved town of Palladio; these palaces with fronts
crusted with bas relief; these Corinthian pillars, these Arabesque
balconies, these porticoes that might have been stolen from Greek
temples, all had been designed by Palladio the Great. And the beautiful
buildings seemed to say pensively, like lovely court ladies whose day is
past, "We are not what we were. Time has changed and broken us, it is
true; but even so we are worth seeing."

It was that view which our Chauffeulier urged, but Aunt Kathryn was for
going on without a stop, until Sir Ralph said, "It's not patriotic of
you to pass by. Palladio built your Capitol at Washington, and all the
fine old colonial houses you admire so much in the East."

"Dear me, did he?" exclaimed Aunt Kathryn. "Why, I never heard of him."

"Moray doesn't mean his words to be taken undiluted," said Mr.
Barrymore. "If it hadn't been for Palladio, there would have been no
Inigo Jones and no Christopher Wren, therefore if you'd had a Capitol at
all, it wouldn't be what it is now. And to understand the colonial
architecture of America, you have to go back to Palladio."

"Well, here we are at him," sighed Aunt Kathryn. "But I hope we won't
have to get _out_?"

Mr. Barrymore laughed. "The Middle Ages revisited, _en automobile_!
However, I'll do my best as showman in the circumstances."

So he drove us into a splendid square, where Palladio was at his
grandest with characteristic facades, galleries, and stately colonnades.
Then, slowly, through the street of palaces and out into the open
country once more--a rich country of grain-fields (looking always as if
an unseen hand softly stroked their silver hair) and of hills swelling
into a mountainous horizon. There was a bright little flower-bordered
canal too, and I've gro