disfigured by many dark stains, and overgrown in part with clinging
mosses, it could still plainly be seen that she had once been very
lovely. At her feet was a marble basin, shaped like a shell, half full
of discoloured, stagnant water; the lion's head just above it, now
almost entirely concealed by a thick curtain of leaves, no longer poured
forth the sparkling stream that used to fall into it with a musical
murmur. This little grotto, with its fountain and statue, bore witness
to former wealth; and also to the aesthetic taste of some long-dead
owner of the domain. The marble goddess was in the Florentine style of
the Renaissance, and probably the work of one of those Italian sculptors
who followed in the train of del Rosso or Primaticcio, when they came
to France at the bidding of that generous patron of the arts, Francis I;
which time was also, apparently, the epoch of the greatest prosperity of
this noble family, now so utterly fallen into decay.

Behind the grotto rose a high wall, built of stone, crumbling and mouldy
now, but still bearing some broken remains of trellis-work, evidently
intended to be covered with creepers that would entirely conceal the
wall itself with a rich tapestry of verdure. This was the limit of the
garden; beyond stretched the wide expanse of the sandy, barren Landes,
flecked here and there with patches of scanty heather, and scattered
groves of pine trees.

Turning back towards the chateau it became apparent that this side of
it was even more neglected and ruinous than the one we have already
described; the recent poverty-stricken owners having tried to keep up
appearances as far as possible, and concentrated their efforts upon the
front of their dilapidated abode. In the stable, where were stalls for
twenty horses, a miserable, old, white pony stood at an empty manger,
nibbling disconsolately at a scanty truss of hay, and frequently turning