French that would strike terror to the
soul of the bravest native. But when she saw that poor, dear,
hard-worked _garcon_ blacking boots by the light of the moon, her heart
melted with pity; and, resolving to give him an extra fee, she silently
retired to her stone-floored bower, and fell asleep in a stuffy little
bed, whose orange curtains filled her dreams with volcanic eruptions and
conflagrations of the most lurid description.

At seven, an open carriage with a stout pair of horses and a sleepy
driver rolled out of the court-yard of the Lion d'Or. Within it sat
three ladies, who gazed at one another with cheerful countenances, and
surveyed the world with an air of bland content, beautiful to behold.

'I am fairly faint with happiness,' sighed Matilda, as they drove
through fields scarlet with poppies, starred with daisies, or yellow
with buttercups, while birds piped gaily, and trees wore their early
green.

'You did not eat any breakfast. That accounts for it. Have a crust, do,'
said Amanda, who seldom stirred without a good, sweet crust or two; for
they were easy to carry, wholesome to chew, and always ready at a
moment's notice.

'Let us save our "entusymusy" till we get to the _chateau_, and enjoy
this lovely drive in a peaceful manner,' said Lavinia, still a little
sleepy after her adventures in the glimpses of the moon.

So, for an hour or two, they rolled along the smooth road, luxuriating
in the summer sights and sounds about them; the wayside cottages, with
women working in the gardens; villages clustered round some tiny,
picturesque church; windmills whirling on the distant hill-tops;
vineyards full of peasants tying up the young vines, or trudging by with
baskets on their backs, heaped with green cuttings for the goats at
home. Old men, breaking stone by the roadside, touched their red caps to
the pilgrims, jolly boys shouted at them from the cherry trees, and
little children peeped from behind the rose-bushes blooming everywhere.

Soon, glimpses of the winding Cher began to appear, then an avenue of
stately trees, and then, standing directly in the river, rose the lovely
_chateau_ built for Diane de Poictiers by her royal lover. Leaving the
carriage at the lodge, our sight-seers crossed the moat, and, led by a
wooden-faced girl with a lisp, entered the famous pleasure-house, which
its present owner (a pensive man in black velvet, who played fitfully on
a French-horn in a pepper-pot tower) is caref