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364 stantly used by the peasants to escape from the soldiers during the War in La Vendee. They were not tunnels, but simply Devonshire lanes. A turn in the road brought Les Rochers into sight. The wood which had skirted our road most of the way up was the Park so much frequented and so dearly loved by the Chatelaine. The house is a quaint jumble of square-built walls, rounded bastions and tourelles, only to be matched, as Mrs. Gaskell said, by castles in the east of Scotland, for, indeed, they also were built by French architects.

And now that we stood in the very rooms which Madame de Sevigne used to live in, and looked out upon the formal strips of flower-garden in front, and saw beyond in the vale which bounded it the orna- mental iron gate which admitted to the Park, it seemed as if Madame de Sevigne, with her dimples, her grand manners — all that went to make up that ' Mere-Beaute ' of hers — would step into the room and say some gracious words to her guests. In the corner there was the old inlaid escritoire, that tall form of cabinet which lets down its lower jaw to make a desk, and divulges row upon row of fascinating little drawers, just fit to hold a lady's poulds, or ' only a woman's hair ' tied up with silver cord. Here it was that the sweetest and wittiest, the most brilliant letter-writer in the world, ' laid the bridle on the neck of her pen ' and let it gallop along to bear her pretty fond messages to her idolised daughter, and lay them at her feet. It was easy to fancy her rising from her chair to receive one of those tiresome ' Madames,' as she calls her country neighbours.

She was not tolerant. She was a great Court lady, accustomed to the best Parisian society. ' If she had wanted visitors,' she said, ' she would have stayed in Paris and not come to Les Rochers.' But no doubt her grand manners hid her real feelings. It is plain that ' Not at home ' had not as yet been invented as a safeguard against intrusion. Sometimes as she was walking in her woods she heard a carriage approaching, and she would turn back till it was gone again, and then scold the servants for not finding her. 'Ce sont les friponneries,' she says, ' qu'on est tente de faire dans ce paic' She once allowed a whole carriageful of visitors to depart in pelting rain because her tongue refused to speak the words necessary to detain them. ' Bad company,' she said, ' was so much better than good. Instead of being sorry when bad company departs, your heart dances with pleasure, and you breathe freely again.' She confessed that she had very little of that great virtue, patience, and when a vulgar rich ' Madame ' drove up her hill from Vitre, and begged for a cup of wine, she hardened her heart and was sure the lady had only come to display her new coach just built by Jean of Paris. How could she be thirsty after five miles' drive from her own house ? These ladies would stay many long hours, and even it seems for days, if they came from a distance. Some- times she was able to persuade them that the ' bel air de la cour, c'est la liberte,' and then she would leave her guests to sup alone while she escaped to her be- loved glades. She always had some tapestry on hand. (' I have some capital needles,' she writes to Madame de Grignan ; ' shall I send you some .'' ') And at this tapestry she worked while these dull people talked to her, and she dropped it as soon as they were gone. What a touch of nature ! Three centuries have in- vented no better method of getting through a tiresome visit. She adds that she found her work as tedious as her company, and never touched it at other times. She was once detained in Vitre longer than she wished. She dared not go back to Les Rochers, though she was dying to find herself there again. ' On en a trouve le chemin,' she says plaintively, 'il y avait Dimanche cinq carrosses a six chevaux.' Only lier own chosen friends were invited into the Park. Of the ladies so honoured the younger ones would go into the Mail to play at battledoor and shuttlecock. Madame la Duchesse de ChaulneSj the Gouvernante of Brittany, would often drive up while the Duke was holding the Etats at Vitre, and, delighted to be quit of ceremony for an afternoon, she would lie down and go to sleep on Madame de Sevigne's bed while her ladies talked, or she would wander with her hostess among the wood- land paths and talk with her of Paris and Madame de Grignan. Once they were caught in a shower, and had to run back to the house completely drenched. Madame de Sevigne supplied them all with dry clothes, and sent them safely home.

One of the few neighbours Madame de Sevigne cared to see besides her friend the Duchess was a German Princess who had married into the great Breton family of LaTremouille. We had seen the ancestral house nest- ling- among the trees as we drove up. This lady was the daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, and aunt to the second Madame, as she was called, the successor of the unfortunate Henrietta of England. Her father-in- law must have been brother to the great Countess of Derby who 'played the man' at Lathom House, and was, as readers of Sir Walter Scott will remember, Charlotte de la Tremouille,and Queen in Man. This Duke claimed the crown of Naples in right of his great-great-grand-mother — claimed it, but never got it. Only he annexed the title of Prince de Tarente, and this title was borne by his son. Madame la Princesse de Tarente, that son's widow, was thus very nearly royal on both sides, and her kindliness, added to her close connection with the Court, made her very congenial to Madame de Sevigne. Even on this great lady Madame de Sevigne took care not to call very often, lest she should expect too much of her company. She would accompany her to her carriage which was waiting at the end of the Park, though the Pi-incess begged her not to come so far. 'Madame, you treat me like a German.' ' Yes, indeed, Madame, I should have obeyed your daughter-in-law (who was a Frenchwoman) before this.' 'Elle entendait cela comme une Frantjaise,' Madame de Sevigne remarks with her pretty insolence.

She was never so happy as when wandering alone