In the garden, among the lilac-bushes and the shrubs that droop over the
alleys, rises the chapel, a work of the sixteenth century, chiselled at
every angle, a perfect jewel, even more intricately decorated inside
than out, cut out like the paper covering of a _bonbonnière_, and
cunningly sculptured like the handle of a Chinese parasol. On the door
is a _bas-relief_ which is very amusing and ingenuous. It represents the
meeting of Saint Hubert with the mystic stag, which bears a cross
between its antlers. The saint is on his knees; above him hovers an
angel who is about to place a crown on his cap; near them stands the
saint's horse, watching the scene with a surprised expression; the dogs
are barking and on the mountain, the sides and facets of which are cut
to represent crystals, creeps the serpent. You can see its flat head
advancing toward some leafless trees that look like cauliflowers. They
are the sort of trees one comes upon in old Bibles, spare of foliage,
thick and clumsy, bearing blossoms and fruit but no leaves; the
symbolical, theological, and devout trees that are almost fantastical on
account of their impossible ugliness. A little further, Saint
Christopher is carrying Jesus on his shoulders; Saint Antony is in his
cell, which is built on a rock; a pig is retiring into its hole and
shows only its hind-quarters and its corkscrew tail, while a rabbit is
sticking its head out of its house.

Of course, it is all a little clumsy and the moulding is not faultless.
But there is so much life and movement about the figure and the animals,
so much charm in the details, that one would give a great deal to be
able to carry it away and take it home.

Inside of the Château, the insipid Empire style is reproduced in every
apartment. Almost every room is adorned with busts of Louis-Philippe and