tance; so, in reply, I
said:

'My name is Whittingham--Richard Whittingham, an English gentleman,
staying at ----.' To my infinite surprise, a light of pleased
intelligence came over the giant's face; he made me a low bow, and said
(still in the same curious dialect) that I was welcome, that I was long
expected.

'Long expected!' What could the fellow mean? Had I stumbled on a nest
of relations by John Calvin's side, who had heard of my genealogical
inquiries, and were gratified and interested by them? But I was too
much pleased to be under shelter for the night to think it necessary to
account for my agreeable reception before I enjoyed it. Just as he was
opening the great heavy _battants_ of the door that led from the hall
to the interior, he turned round and said:

'Apparently Monsieur le Geanquilleur is not come with you.'

'No! I am all alone; I have lost my way,'--and I was going on with my
explanation, when he, as if quite indifferent to it, led the way up a
great stone staircase, as wide as many rooms, and having on each
landing-place massive iron wickets, in a heavy framework; these the
porter unlocked with the solemn slowness of age. Indeed, a strange,
mysterious awe of the centuries that had passed away since this chateau
was built, came over me as I waited for the turning of the ponderous
keys in the ancient locks. I could almost have fancied that I heard a
mighty rushing murmur (like the ceaseless sound of a distant sea,
ebbing and flowing for ever and for ever), coming forth from the great
vacant galleries that opened out on each side of the broad staircase,
and were to be dimly perceived in the darkness above us. It was as if
the voices of generations of men yet echoed and eddied in the silent
air. It was strange, too, that my friend the porter going before me,
ponderously infirm, with his feeble old hands striving in vain to keep
the tall flambeau he held steadily before him,--strange, I say, that he
was the only domestic I saw in the vast halls and passages, or met with
on the grand staircase. At length we stood before the gilded doors that
led into the saloon where the family--or it might be the company, so
great was the buzz of voices--was assembled. I would have remonstrated
when I found he was going to introduce me, dusty and travel-smeared, in
a morning costume that was not even my best, into this grand _salon_,
with nobody knew how many ladies and gentlemen assembled; but the
obstinate old ma