rare shells. The chairs, which
evidently had not been changed since the beginning of the sixteenth
century, showed the square shape with twisted columns and the low back
covered with a fringed stuff, common to that period, and glorified by
Raphael in his picture of the Madonna della Sedia. The wood of these
chairs was now black, but the gilt nails shone as if new, and the stuff,
carefully renewed from time to time, was of an admirable shade of red.

The whole life of Flanders with its Spanish innovations was in this
room. The decanters and flasks on the dinner-table, with their graceful
antique lines and swelling curves, had an air of respectability. The
glasses were those old goblets with stems and feet which may be seen
in the pictures of the Dutch or Flemish school. The dinner-service of
faience, decorated with raised colored figures, in the manner of Bernard
Palissy, came from the English manufactory of Wedgwood. The silver-ware
was massive, with square sides and designs in high relief,--genuine
family plate, whose pieces, in every variety of form, fashion, and
chasing, showed the beginnings of prosperity and the progress towards
fortune of the Claes family. The napkins were fringed, a fashion
altogether Spanish; and as for the linen, it will readily be supposed
that the Claes's household made it a point of honor to possess the best.

All this service of the table, silver, linen, and glass, were for
the daily use of the family. The front house, where the social
entertainments were given, had its own especial luxury, whose marvels,
being reserved for great occasions, wore an air of dignity often lost
to things which are, as it were, made common by daily use. Here, in
the home quarter, everything bore the impress of patriarchal use and
simplicity. And--for a final and delightful detail--a vine grew outside
the house between the windows, whose tendrilled branches twined about
the casements.

"You are faithful to the old traditions, madame," said Pierquin, as he
received a plate of that celebrated thyme soup in which the Dutch and
Flemish cooks put little force-meat balls and dice of fried bread. "This
is the Sunday soup of our forefathers. Your house and that of my uncle
des Racquets are the only ones where we still find this historic soup
of the Netherlands. Ah! pardon me, old Monsieur Savaron de Savarus of
Tournai makes it a matter of pride to keep up the custom; but everywhere
else old Flanders is disappearing. N