r than might have been
expected this extraordinary mixture of seclusion and exposure. All these
things form part of the castle of Loches, whose enormous _enceinte_
covers the whole of the top of the hill and abounds in dismantled
gateways, in crooked passages, in winding lanes that lead to postern
doors, in long facades that look upon terraces interdicted to the
visitor, who perceives with irritation that they command magnificent
views. These views are the property of the sub-prefect of the
department, who resides at the Chateau de Loches and who has also the
enjoyment of a garden--a garden compressed and curtailed, as those of
old castles that perch on hill-tops are apt to be--containing a
horse-chestnut tree of fabulous size,

[Illustration: LOCHES--THE CHURCH]

a tree of a circumference so vast and so perfect that the whole
population of Loches might sit in concentric rows beneath its boughs.
The gem of the place, however, is neither the big _marronier_, nor the
collegial church, nor the mighty dungeon, nor the hideous prisons of
Louis XI.; it is simply the tomb of Agnes Sorel, _la belle des belles_,
so many years the mistress of Charles VII. She was buried in 1450, in
the collegial church, whence, in the beginning of the present century,
her remains, with the monument that marks them, were transferred to one
of the towers of the castle. She has always, I know not with what
justice, enjoyed a fairer fame than most ladies who have occupied her
position, and this fairness is expressed in the delicate statue that
surmounts her tomb. It represents her lying there in lovely demureness,
her hands folded with the best modesty, a little kneeling angel at
either side of her head, and her feet, hidden in the folds of her decent
robe, resting upon a pair of couchant lambs, innocent reminders of her
name. Agnes, however, was not lamb-like, inasmuch as, according to
popular tradition at least, she exerted herself sharply in favour of the
expulsion of the English from France. It is one of the suggestions of
Loches that the young Charles VII., hard put to it as he was for a
treasury and a capital--"le roi de Bourges," he was called at Paris--was
yet a rather privileged mortal, to stand up as he does before posterity
between the noble Joan and the _gentille Agnes_; deriving, however, much
more honour from one of these companions than from the other. Almost as
delicate a relic of antiquity as this fascinating tomb is the exquisite