The old ruin of Castelnau was perched on one of the most heavily wooded
mountains in the neighborhood, and its reddish stone turrets and towers
stood out boldly against the sky.

By looking over and beyond the wall surrounding my uncle's garden I
could see the ancient castle. Indeed, it was a conspicuous point in the
landscape, and one immediately saw its rough red stones emerging from
the interlaced trees; one instantly noted the ancient ruin crowning the
mountain all overgrown with the beautiful verdure of chestnut and oak
trees.

Upon the day of my arrival I had caught a glimpse of it, and I was
attracted by this old eagle's nest which must have been a superb place
of refuge during the stormy middle ages. It was a common custom in my
uncle's family to go up there two or three times a month to dine and
pass the afternoon with the proprietor, an old clergyman, who lived in a
comfortable house built against one side of the ruin.

For me those days were like a revel in fairy land.

We started very early in the morning so that we should be beyond the
plains before the hottest period of the day. When we arrived at the
foot of the mountain we were refreshed by the cool shade of the forest,
enveloped in its mantle of beautiful green. As we went up and up, by
zig-zag paths, afoot, and in single file, under lofty arching oaks and
intertwined foliage our line of march resembled a huge serpent. I was
reminded of Gustave Dore's engravings of mediaeval pilgrims making their
way to isolated abbeys perched on mountain heights. Tiny springs oozed
out here and there and trickled across the red earth; between the trees
we had momentary glimpses of beautiful and extensive vistas. At last we