Sunday. The young couple have a charming installation, really a small
house, in one of the wings--bedrooms, dressing-rooms, boudoir, cabinet
de travail, and a separate entrance--so that M. A. can receive any one
who comes to see him on business without having them pass through the
château. Mme. A. has her rooms on the ground-floor at the other end of
the house. Her sitting-room with glass door opens into a winter garden
filled with plants, which gives on the park; her bedroom is on the
other side, looking on the court-yard; a large library next it, light
and space everywhere, plenty of servants, everything admirably
arranged.

The evening mail goes out at 7.30, and every evening at seven exactly
the letter-carrier came down the corridor knocking at all the doors
and asking for letters. He had stamps, too, at least _French_ stamps.
I could never get a foreign stamp (twenty-five centimes)--had to put
one of fifteen and two of five when I had a foreign letter. I don't
really think there were any in the country. I don't believe they had a
foreign correspondent of any description. It was a thoroughly French
establishment of the best kind.

We walked about the small park and gardens in the afternoon. The
gardens are enormous; one can drive through them. Mme. A. drove in her
pony carriage. They still had some lovely late roses which filled me
with envy--ours were quite finished.

The next day was not quite so fine, gray and misty, but a good
shooting day, no wind. We joined the gentlemen for lunch in another
pavilion farther away and rather more open than the one of the other
day. However, we were warm enough with our coats on, a good fire
burning, and hot bricks for our feet. The battues (aux échelles) that