the house, windows on each side. The room was all in wood
panelling--light gray--the sun streaming in through the windows. Mme.
de Courval put W. on her right, me on her other side. We had an
excellent breakfast, which we appreciated after our early start. There
was handsome old silver on the table and sideboard, which is a rare
thing in France, as almost all the silver was melted during the
Revolution. Both Mme. de Courval and her daughter were very easy and
animated. The Marquise de Chaponay told me she had known W. for years,
that in the old days before he became such a busy man and so engrossed
in politics he used to read Alfred de Musset to her, in her atelier,
while she painted. She supposed he read now to me--which he certainly
never did--as he always told me he hated reading aloud. They talked
politics, of course, but their opinions were the classic Faubourg St.
Germain opinions: "A Republic totally unfitted for France and the
French"--"none of the gentlemen in France really Republican at heart"
(with evidently a few exceptions)--W.'s English blood and education
having, of course, influenced him.

As soon as breakfast was over one of the windows on the side of the
moat was opened and we all gave bread to the carp, handed to us by the
butler--small square pieces of bread in a straw basket. It was funny
to see the fish appear as soon as the window was opened--some of them
were enormous and very old. It seems they live to a great age; a
guardian of the Palace at Fontainebleau always shows one to tourists,
who is supposed to have been fed by the Emperor Napoleon. Those of
Pinon knew all about it, lifting their brown heads out of the water
and never missing their piece of bread.

We went back to the drawing-room for coffee, passing through the
billiard room, where there are some good pictures. A fine life-size