little fox-terrier and a fine collie--went nearly mad, barking and
yapping every time the couple appeared--their excitement reaching a
climax when the actors came in and stretched themselves out on each
side of the door, having finally divined the word mat. The dogs made
such frantic dashes at them that M. and Mme. de Lasteyrie had to carry
them off bodily.

The next morning I went for a walk with M. de Lasteyrie. We strolled
up and down the "Allée des Soupirs," so called in remembrance of one
of the early chatelaines who trailed her mourning robes and widow's
veil over the fallen leaves, bemoaning her solitude until a favoured
suitor appeared on the scene and carried her away to his distant
home--but the Allée still retains its name.

The park is small, but very well laid out. Many of the memoirs of the
time speak of walks and talks with Lafayette under the beautiful
trees.

During the last years of Lafayette's life, La Grange was a
cosmopolitan centre. Distinguished people from all countries came
there, anxious to see the great champion of liberty; among them many
Americans, who always found a gracious, cordial welcome; one silent
guest--a most curious episode which I will give in the words of the
Marquis de Lasteyrie:

"One American, however, in Lafayette's own time, came on a lonely
pilgrimage to La Grange; he was greeted with respect, but of that
greeting he took no heed. He was a silent guest, nor has he left any
record of his impressions; in fact, he was dead before starting on his
journey. He arrived quite simply one fine autumn morning, in his