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demeanor of their sturdy horses, and the subdued creak of the cart-wheels as they slowly climbed the bank into the unknown country beyond, harmonized with the atmosphere of quiet and content that hung over the valley. Now and then the flash of the sun on an uplifted shovel, and the staccato bark of the dog who plainly owned the river and questioned our right to voyage upon it, accented and emphasized the quiet for eye and ear.

Near another sand-bar

three men in a long bateau, with sharppointed overhanging bow and stern, were dragging the gravel from the river-bed with long-handled rakes of curious design.

Where a little stream came down to join the great river, talking cheerily to itself in an undertone, a white-capped old peasant woman with kilted skirts belabored the family wash. As we passed, another woman leading a reluctant cow appeared on the high bank above, silhouetted against the blue sky. In a moment cow and linen were forgotten in the joys of gossip, so absorbing that even the passing of our canoe a dozen yards away went unobserved.

Farther down the river long nets were stretched on poles well across the channel, but looped up above the water's level, for the fishing season would not begin for a day or two yet. The fisherman, who was putting the last touches of repairs to his nets, lifted them still higher, and let us slip beneath, with a pleasant word of greeting.

So we voyaged under a glorious sky, and saw the life of the countryside flow by us. The morning's paddle brought us easily to Chaumont.

At this point M'sieur lays down his pen with a sigh. His recollections of the beauties of Chaumont are dimmed by the more poignant memory of the pangs of hunger that assailed him there. We arrived just at noon, quite the normal time to lunch, in view of a breakfast of chocolate and rolls and a subsequent three hours' paddle. But, for some reason unknown, we elected to visit the château first. We entered the town modestly through a small alley between gardens which led up from the river. Perhaps town is rather too spacious a

title for the single street with its double row of houses which straggles along the foot of the hill upon the summit of which the château rests. But, though unpretentious, the village boasted the usual assortment of boulangeries, patisseries, confiseries, and épiceries, where we filled the lunch-basket, leaving it at the last little shop for future reference. We did not deign to ask our way, for there, plain to be seen on the heights above us, was the château. But alas for overconfidence! We climbed a steep, rough road which gave every sign of an honorable intention to lead us to our goal. But when, hot and breathless, we gained the summit, it was only to be lured a little farther and yet a little farther on, with not even a glimpse of the round towers of the castle to encourage us. And we were waxing hungrier with every step. Finally, after making several circles around the supposed site of the château, M'dame had a distant vision of a battlemented façade. The deceiving road was promptly abandoned and a bee line taken through stables and tenants' cottages.

Chaumont is neither stately nor im pressive, but it has an air of sturdy strength and self-reliance. The arched gateway between two massive towers is guarded by a very real portcullis and drawbridge. On the occasion of our visit the drawbridge was up, and we crossed a narrow foot-bridge on the right and knocked at a small door—(we wished it were a postern, but since it was in front we are afraid it wasn't). In answer to our knock the door swung open, and there, filling the entrance, were two huge black dogs. It was something of a surprise, but the beasts had a benign expression of countenance, and the little old lady who peered over their backs hastened to assure us that they were "good." The concierge, it appeared, was engaged in conducting another party over the house; we could wait in the courtyard. For a time this was eminently satisfactory. The courtyard, inclosed on three sides, is open on the fourth to an enchanting view of the river and valley. Level with the stone railing on the edge of the terrace are the tops of trees which grow on the steep slope below, making a swaying screen of green

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which shuts out the town and gives one the impression of being suspended in air. We wandered about the courtyard, sat in the shade of a great larch-tree which grew by the chapel wall, and leaned on the stone well-curb admiring the ferns which grew between the stones. While so engaged we were startled by sepulchral voices issuing apparently from the depths of the well. It flashed through the fertile brain of M'sieur that an underground passage connected the well with some part of the château, and that the voices were those of the other visiting party. But the instant and apt response to our murmurs of surprise forced upon us the realization that we had merely stumbled upon one of the haunts of Echo.

Our wanderings and discoveries kept us happily diverted for perhaps fifteen minutes, but then our appetites became really clamorous, and still the other visitors engaged the services of the concierge. We could trace their progress from room to room. Occasionally they would appear at a window to admire the view or emerge upon a balcony to take a picture. We wondered if they were never hungry.

Two of the ladies of the

party we decided were from Boston; a pervading air of intellectuality and the presence of two Boston bags proclaimed the fact. They were, of course, intent upon extracting every crumb of information, and, their French being of a very American brand, the strength and patience of the concierge were severely taxed. We noticed that he drooped visibly as the inspection drew to a close, and decided that he too was hungry. Finally the representatives of the Hub withdrew with a parting remark delivered in inimitable French to which, I fear, no spelling could do justice. We then approached the concierge with a manner which plainly said "next." He rolled a desperate eye at us, asked if we were pressed for time, then, evidently with the memory of his last experience before him, and despairing of making an American understand, pointed expressively down his throat and hastily withdrew. We could not but sympathize, but sympathy is not filling.

Help came to us, however, as we were disconsolately turning over picture postcards, in the form of a shy pink and white maiden, who offered her services in lieu of those of her father. Under her

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that she no more than her royal rival could be contented with Chaumont for a home. As we left I wondered if Chenonceaux were indeed more beautiful, that both preferred it to lovely Chaumont. In descending we found the way that we should have ascended. It was a pleasant walk down a tree-shaded avenue, but unfortunately it landed us at the eastern limit of the town, and we had left our basket at the last shop at the western end. It was a blow, but we had got beyond words, and silently and sadly we fetched our basket, boarded our canoe, paddled furiously to the nearest shaded spot, and ate. When nothing remained but an empty cheese-box and an empty bottle, we composed ourselves upon the grass with intent to sleep. The entry in M'dame's journal for that day says"Attempted a siesta, but tickly little green bugs prevented--" They did, so we took to our paddles again.

"A BEAUTIFUL OLD STONE STAIRCASE, WORN AND

guidance we mounted a beautiful old stone staircase worn and hollowed by the footsteps. of many ages to the only suite of rooms which is shown. Most of the château is occupied by the present owner, but the five or six rooms which are open to the public are so beautiful as to make one forget to regret that he cannot see more. They are furnished and decorated just as in the old days of Chaumont's glory. From the Salle des Gardes, with its old tapestries, quaint wrought-iron fire-dogs, and suits of mail, we passed through the great oakcarved Salle de Conseil into the bedchamber of Catherine de Médicis. Of all the old rooms we saw in our journeyings this was to me the most beautiful. In it are an ancient bed and prie-dieu, time-darkened carved escritoires and cabinets, and on the walls most lovely old tapestries in blending shades of faded rose. A mellow radiance filled the room, time stood still, it seemed a place enchanted, full of dreams. Lifting a heavy curtain on one side, we stepped out on to the gallery of the chapel which occupies the end of the wing. Beside the altar-steps is the great carved chair in which Georges, Cardinal d'Amboise, the wisest and best councilor of his time, used to sit, while above it still hangs the old red Cardinal's hat which Cæsar Borgia gave him more than four hundred years ago. Another door from Catherine's room leads into the one occupied by her astronomer and confidant, Ruggieriand here hangs a portrait of the wicked old queen. The chamber of Diane de Poitiers is built in the thickness of the entrance tower and is entered from the Salle des Gardes. It is not so beautiful as that of Catherine, but still sufficiently so to make it seem strange

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A friend, hearing of our intended journey in Touraine, had enthusiastically characterized his impressions of the province with the remark, "It's a perfect bowl of sunshine." Often during the four preceding days of cloud and rain we had cast an ironical thought at this description, but to-day we felt the truth of it. All the rays of the sun were focused in that one spot of the valley of the Loire, and we were the center of that spot.

Amboise began to make its impression while still a long stretch of river, blinding in its reflection of the naked sun and the blazing white sky, lay before us. Its dominant position, on the top of a high rock above the river, and the massive proportions of its round tower, made the impression one of impregnability. We took heart at the sight of the château,

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and in spite of the heat paddled briskly until we slid into the grateful shade of the island that lies in front of the town. We landed under the château, and found the hotel which Baedeker had pointed out just across the street and facing the river. It was an admirable inn, though having neither the rustic simplicity of our hostelry at St. Dyé nor the overpowering sophistication of the hotel at Blois. It was just comfortable and homelike. After dinner, an eminently satisfactory occasion from radishes to strawberries, we sat on the little terrace behind screen of greenery and drank our

the none too brilliant son of grim Louis XI., had added to the mediæval stronghold, which dated perhaps from Roman times. The first impression of strength and inaccessibility was emphasized. From the foot of the rock to its top climbs the huge round tower with battlemented galleries about its summit, their floors, pierced with holes for the cordial reception, by means of stones and melted lead, of uninvited guests. An inclined plane, winding upward in a gradual spiral within the tower, gave approach to the little plateau which the castle occupies. Up this luxurious substitute for a A fluffy gray-and-white ball of staircase Charles the Fifth, Emperor of a kitten entertained us. With mock the Holy Roman Empire, rode at the importance it strolled casually among head of a troop of cavalry when he visthe tables and chairs, giving a friendly ited France during an interval of peace rub to M'dame's skirt as it passed. It It with his ambitious and quarrelsome rival, undertook stupendous hunts in the jungle Francis First. It is recorded that on of the shrubbery, to receive every time this festive occasion flambeaux blazed a terrible fright from some figment of in such numbers" that a man might see its imagination and dash madly off to as clearly as at midday." sanctuary within the inn. It was finally captured by the little son of mine host and carried off to supper and to bed. Then we strolled out behind the hotel for a glimpse of the château.

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We looked up the sheer side of its rock to the façade which Charles VIII.,

Our entrance the next morning was made in more modest style, through a gate on the other side of the rock and up a sloping road between heavy walls. At the top a garden of roses, in a profusion of color and perfume, beguiled us from our first impression of the châ

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