Near the chateau there was a real waterfall, reminding one in no small sense of the misty veils at Lauterbrunnen or Giesbach.  The swift stream which obtained life from these falls, big and little, ran along the base of the cliff for some distance and was then diverted by means of a deep, artificial channel into an almost complete circuit of the chateau, forming the moat.  It sped along at the foot of the upper terrace, a wide torrent that washed between solid walls of masonry which rose to a height of not less than ten feet on either side.  There were two drawbridges—­seldom used but always practicable.  One, a handsome example of bridge building, crossed the current at the terminus of the grand approach which led up from the park; the other opened the way to the stables and the servants’ quarters at the rear.  A small, stationary bridge crossed the vicious stream immediately below the hanging garden and led to the ladders by which one ascended to the caverns that ran far back into the mountain.

Two big, black, irregular holes in the face of the cliff marked the entrance to these deep, rambling caves, wonderful caverns wrought by the convulsions of the dead volcano, cracks made by these splintering earthquakes when the island was new.

The garden hung high between the building and the cliff, swung by a score of great steel cables.  These cables were riveted soundly in the solid rock of the cliff at one end and fastened as safely to the stone walls of the chateau at the other.  It swung staunchly from its moorings, with the constancy of a suspension bridge, and trembled at the slightest touch.

It was at least a hundred feet square.  The floor was covered with a foot or more of soil in which the rich grass and plants of the tropics flourished.  There were tiny flower beds in the center; baby palms, patchouli plants and a maze of interlacing vines marked the edges of this wonderful garden in mid-air.  Cool fountains sprayed the air at either end of the green enclosure:  the illusion was complete.

The walls surrounding the garden were three feet high and were intended to represent the typical English garden wall of brick.  To gain access to the hanging garden, one crossed a narrow bridge, which led from the second balcony of the chateau.  There was not an hour in the day when protection from the sun could not be found in this little paradise.

Bobby Browne was holding forth, with his usual exuberance, on the magnificence of the British navy.  The Marquess of B——­, uncle to the Princess, swelled with pride as he sat at the table and tasted his julep through the ever-obliging straw.  The Princess, fanning herself wearily, leaned back and looked up into the mystic night, the touch of dreamland caressing her softly.  The others—­eight or ten men and half as many women—­listened to the American in twice as many moods.