' sang Lavinia, as they rolled
away on the fourth stage of their summer journey. A very short stage it
was, and soon they were in an entirely new scene, for Amboise was a
little, old-time village on the banks of the Loire, looking as if it had
been asleep for a hundred years. The Lion d'Or was a quaint place, so
like the inns described in French novels, that one kept expecting to see
some of Dumas' heroes come dashing up, all boots, plumes, and pistols,
with a love-letter for some court beauty in the castle on the hill
beyond.

Queer galleries and stairs led up outside the house to the rooms above.
The _salle-a-manger_ was across a court, and every dish came from a
kitchen round the corner. The _garcon_, a beaming, ubiquitous creature,
trotted perpetually, diving down steps, darting into dark corners, or
skipping up ladders, producing needfuls from most unexpected places. The
bread came from the stable, soup from the cellar, coffee out of a
meal-chest, and napkins from the housetop, apparently, for Adolphe went
up among the weather-cocks to get them.

'No one knows us, no one can speak a word of English, and if we happen
to die here it will never be known. How romantic and nice it is!'
exclaimed Mat, in good spirits, for the people treated the ladies as if
they were duchesses in disguise, and the young women liked it.

'I'm not so sure that the romance is all it looks. We should be in a
sweet quandary if anything happened to our sheet-anchor here. Just
remember, in any danger, save Amanda first, then she will save us. But
if she is lost, all is lost,' replied Lavinia, darkly, for she always
took tragical views of life when her bones ached.

Up the hill they went after breakfast; and balm was found for the old
lady's woes in the sight of many Angora cats, of great size and beauty.
White as snow, with tails like plumes, and mild, yellow eyes, were these
charmers. At every window sat one; on every door-step sprawled a bunch
of down; and frequently the eye of the tabby-loving spinster was
gladdened by the touching spectacle of a blonde mamma in the bosom of
her young family.

'If I could only carry it, I'd have one of those dears, no matter what
it cost!' cried Lavinia, more captivated by a live cat than by all the
dead Huguenots that Catherine de Medicis hung over the castle walls on
a certain memorable occasion.

'Well, you can't, so come on and improve your mind with some good,
useful history,' said Amanda, leadin