red tape in France.  One writes and receives so many letters about anything one wants to do—­a Christmas Tree in the school-house—­a distribution of soup for the poor and old—­a turn in a road to be rounded, etc.  However, the permission was graciously accorded for the band.  The Mayor’s idea was to station it on the Mail, where quantities of people would congregate who couldn’t get into the church or the tent.

We went one day to have tea with the Abbe Marechal in his nice old presbytere; the salon opening out on a large, old-fashioned garden with fine trees, and a view of the church towers in the distance.  He was quite pleased with all that he had arranged for his church service.  One of his friends, Abbe Vignon, a most interesting man and eloquent preacher, promised to deliver a lecture on Racine from the pulpit; and M. Vincent d’Indy, the distinguished composer and leader of the modern school of music, undertook the music with Mme. Jeanne Maunay as singer; he himself presiding at the organ.

I tried to persuade the proprietors of all the chateaux in the neighbourhood to come, but I can’t say I had much success.  Some had gout—­some had mourning.  I don’t remember if any one “had married a wife and therefore couldn’t come.”

However, we shall fill our own house, and give breakfast and dinner to any one who will come.  To-day we have been wandering about on the green near the ruins, trying to find some place where we can give our friends tea.  The service in the church will certainly be long, and before the theatrical performance begins we should like to arrange a little gouter—­but where?  It is too far to go back to our house, and the Sauvage, our usual resort, will be packed on that day, and quite off its head, as they have two banquets morning and evening.  The “Cafe des Ruines,” a dirty little place just under the great walls of the chateau, didn’t look inviting; but there was literally nothing else, so we interviewed the proprietor, went in to the big room down stairs, which was perfectly impossible, reeking with smoke, and smelling of cheap liquor; but he told us he had a “tres belle salle” up stairs, where we should be quite alone.  We climbed up a dark, rickety little turning staircase, and found ourselves in quite a good room, with three large windows on the green; the walls covered with pictures from the cheap illustrated papers, and on the whole not too dirty.  We have taken it for the afternoon, told the patron we would come to-morrow, put up tables, and make as many preparations as we could for the great day.  He was very anxious to furnish something—­some “vin du pays;” but we told him all we wanted was fire, plenty of hot water, and a good scrubbing of floor and windows.