g them forward. 'You _must_ remember
that Charles VII. was born here in 1470--that Anne of Brittany married
him for her first husband, and that he bumped his head against a low
door in the garden here above, as he was running through to play bowls
with his Anne, and it killed him.'

'Which? the bump or the bowls?' asked Mat, who liked to have things
clearly stated.

'Don't be frivolous, child. Here Margaret of Anjou and her son were
reconciled to Warwick. Abd-el Kader and his family were kept prisoners
here, and in the garden is a tomb with a crescent on it; likewise a
"pleached walk," and a winding drive inside the great tower, up which
lords and ladies used to ride straight into the hall,' continued the
sage Amanda, who yearned to enlighten the darkness of her careless
friends.

A brisk old woman did the honours of the castle, showing them mouldy
chapels, sepulchral halls, rickety stairs, grubby cells, and pitch-dark
passages, till even the romantic Matilda was glad to see the light of
day, and repose in the pleasant gardens while removing the cobwebs from
her countenance and the dust from her raiment.

A lovely view gladdened their eyes as they stood on the balcony whence
the amiable Catherine surveyed the walls hung thick, and the river
choked up with the dead. Below, the broad Loire rolled slowly by between
its green banks. Little boys, in the costume of Cupid, were riding great
horses in to bathe after the day's work. The grey roofs of the town
nestled to the hillside, and far away stretched the summer landscape,
full of vague suggestions of new scenes and pleasures to the pilgrims.

'We start for Chenonceaux at seven in the morning; so, ladies, I beg
that you will be ready punctually,' was the command issued by Amanda, as
they went to their rooms, after a festive dinner of what Lavinia called
'earth-worms and cacti,' not being fond of stewed brains, baked eels, or
thistles and pigweed chopped up in oil.

Such a droll night as the wanderers spent! No locks on the doors and no
bells. Stairs leading straight up the gallery from the courtyard, carts
going and coming, soft footsteps stealing up and down, whispers that
sounded suspicious (though they were only orders to kill chickens and
pick salad for the morrow), and a ghostly whistle that disturbed
Lavinia so much, she at last draped herself in the green coverlet, and
went boldly forth upon the balcony to see what it meant.

She intended to demand silence in