queness, luncheon was
over, and we all rose. With what seemed to me detestable impertinence,
though clearly not understood as such by innocent Miss Randolph, the
Frenchman sauntered by the side of the ladies as if to go with them to
the Chateau. Perhaps my young mistress was touched by the look of gloom
that doubtless clouded my insignificant features, for she promptly and
cordially tendered me an invitation to go with them. "You know, Brown,"
she said, "we look on you as our guide as well as our _chauffeur_" ("and
I must be your watch-dog too, though it isn't in the contract," I
grumbled to myself, "if you are going to allow every automobilist who
claims the right of fellowship to thrust himself upon you").

Even Aunt Mary was impressed as we passed into the inner court of
Chambord, and Miss Randolph (whose sympathy and imagination throws her
at once into harmony with her surroundings) drew a quick breath of
half-awed astonishment at sight of this enormous structure, more like a
city than a single house, with its prodigious towers, its extraordinary
assemblage of pinnacles, gables, turrets, cones, chimneys and gargoyles.
The Frenchman minced along at her side, twirling his moustache, and
making great play with those long-lashed eyes of his. I divined his
intention to outdistance us, and get Miss Randolph to himself in the
labyrinth of vast, empty rooms through which our party was paraded by a
languid guide; but thwarted him by hastening Aunt Mary's steps and
keeping upon their heels in my new character of watch-dog. I was more
annoyed than I care to tell you when I saw that she seemed to like his
idiotic compliments; but when I heard him tell her airily that Chambord
was built by Louis the Fourteenth, and Miss Randolph turned
questioningly to me with a puzzled little wrinkle on her forehead, I
felt that my time had come.

I began something reprehensively like a lecture on Chambord, putting
myself by Miss Randolph's side, and determined that the Frenchman should
get no further chance. I pointed out the constant recurrence of the
salamander, the emblem of Francis the First, the builder of the house,
and I told how he had selected this sandy waste to build it on, because
the Comtesse de Thoury had once lived near by, she having been one of
the earliest loves of that oft-loving King. I enlarged upon the
characteristics of French Renaissance architecture, pointed out the
unity in variety of the design of Pierre Nepveu, the