fountains spouting cold water enough to make one's teeth chatter. At
least, such was the feeling they imparted on the wintry day of my
uncle's visit; though, in hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was
glare enough to scorch one's eyes out.

The smacking of the postillion's whip, which grew more and more intense
the nearer they approached, frightened a flight of pigeons out of the
dove-cote, and rooks out of the roofs; and finally a crew of servants
out of the chateau, with the Marquis at their head. He was enchanted to
see my uncle; for his chateau, like the house of our worthy host, had
not many more guests at the time than it could accommodate. So he
kissed my uncle on each cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered
him into the castle.

The Marquis did the honors of his house with the urbanity of his
country. In fact, he was proud of his old family chateau; for part of
it was extremely old. There was a tower and chapel that had been built
almost before the memory of man; but the rest was more modern; the
castle having been nearly demolished during the wars of the League. The
Marquis dwelt upon this event with great satisfaction, and seemed
really to entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry IV., for having
thought his paternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories
to tell of the prowess of his ancestors, and several skull-caps,
helmets, and cross-bows to show; and divers huge boots and buff
jerkins, that had been worn by the Leaguers. Above all, there was a
two-handled sword, which he could hardly wield; but which he displayed
as a proof that there had been giants in his family.

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such great warriors. When
you looked at their bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in