moved at first, and was really a terrifying object when she got up; half savage, scarcely clothed—­a short petticoat in holes and a ragged bodice gaping open over her bare skin, no shoes or stockings; big black eyes set deep in her head, and a quantity of unkempt black hair.  She looked enormous when she stood up, her head nearly touching the roof.  I didn’t feel very comfortable, but we were two, and the carriage and Hubert within call.  The woman was civil enough when she saw I had not come empty-handed.  We took her some soup, bread, and milk.  The children pounced upon the bread like little wild animals.  The mother didn’t touch anything while we were there—­said she was glad to have the milk for the boy.  I never saw human beings living in such utter filth and poverty.  A crofter’s cottage in Scotland, or an Irish hovel with the pigs and children all living together, was a palace compared to that awful hole.  I remonstrated vigorously with W. and the Mayor of La Ferte for allowing people to live in that way, like beasts, upon the highroad, close to a perfectly prosperous country town.  However, they were vagrants, couldn’t live anywhere, for when we passed again, some days later, there was no one in the hole.  The door had fallen down, there was no smoke coming out, and the neighbours told us the family had suddenly disappeared.  The authorities then took up the matter—­the holes were filled up, and no one was allowed to live in them.  It really was too awful—­like the dwellers in caves of primeval days.

We didn’t have many visits at the chateau, though we were so near Paris (only about an hour and a half by the express), but the old people had got accustomed to their quiet life, and visitors would have worried them.  Sometimes a Protestant pasteur would come down for two days.  We had a nice visit once from M. de Pressense, father of the present deputy, one of the most charming, cultivated men one could imagine.  He talked easily and naturally, using beautiful language.  He was most interesting when he told us about the Commune, and all the horrors of that time in Paris.  He was in the Tuileries when the mob sacked and burned the palace; saw the femmes de la halle sitting on the brocade and satin sofas, saying, “C’est nous les princesses maintenant”; saw the entrance of the troops from Versailles, and the quantity of innocent people shot who were merely standing looking on at the barricades, having never had a gun in their hands.  The only thing I didn’t like was his long extempore (to me familiar) prayers at night.  I believe it is a habit in some old-fashioned French Protestant families to pray for each member of the family by name.  I thought it was bad enough when he prayed for the new menage just beginning their married life (that was us), that they might be spiritually guided to do their best for each other and their respective families; but when he proceeded to name some others of the family who had strayed a little from