ngly called _Basseville_ than _Haute_. A slightly rising
ground to the east of the church kindles again some faint hopes, the
more so when the bystanders, again confirmed by the map, point out this
direction as the way to the _chateau_. But _chateau_, in modern French
use, is a dangerous word, and even the higher ground did not at all
answer our preconceived notion of Hauteville. Still, not to throw away
the faintest chance, we go on in the direction pointed out, trusting to
our natural wits, for we had nothing else to guide us. Our books had
failed us; nor did we, as sometimes happens, light on some intelligent
priest or other person more likely to help us than the ordinary
villager. A short further drive through two or three narrower roads and
their turnings brings us to a spot beyond which there is clearly nothing
"carossable" or even "jackassable." We come to two ranges of buildings
standing among fields, buildings which have greatly gone down in the
world, but which proclaim themselves as the remains of a _chateau_ in
the later French sense, or perhaps only of its outhouses. The modern
_chateau_ does indeed often enough stand on the site of the ancient
_castle_; but here were no signs whatever of mound or ditch, though we
ran into several fields to look for them. And, though we were certainly
on higher ground than the church and village, there was nothing at all
to suggest why the name of the place should have been called Hauteville.

The only hope now is to go back to the village, on the chance either of
finding out something more by the light of nature or of lighting on some
one who can tell us something. To the south of the church, as to the
east, there is some ground rather higher than the village itself; but we
see nothing of a mound, nothing to suggest an _alta villa_. But some
farm-buildings to the west of the church attract the eye; they are not
of yesterday; a round tower, seemingly belonging to a gateway, suggests
a _chateau_ which has taken the place of a _chateau-fort_. And, hard
by, some of our company are led, perhaps by their noses, to an undoubted
ditch, though not exactly a fellow of Arques, Marsala, or Old Sarum. And
it is more than a common ditch; it is deep; it is four-sided, and it
fences in a distinct plot of ground. Our thoughts have come down so low
from the lofty donjon with the vision of which we set out that we begin
to think of the smaller kind of moated houses in our own land. The
rector