We went almost entirely along the great plains, occasionally small bits of wood and very fair hills as we got near our destination.  The villages always very scattered and almost deserted—­when it is cold everybody stays indoors—­and of course there is no work to be done on the farms when the ground is hard frozen.  It is a difficult question to know what to do with the men of all the small hamlets when the real winter sets in; the big farms turn off many of their labourers, and as it is a purely agricultural country all around us there is literally nothing to do.  My husband and several of the owners of large estates gave work to many with their regular “coupe” of wood, but that only lasts a short time, and the men who are willing to work but can find nothing drift naturally into cafes and billiard saloons, where they read cheap bad papers and talk politics of the wildest description.

We found our chateau very well situated on the top of a hill, a good avenue leading up to the gate, a pretty little park with fine trees at the back, the tower of the village church just visible through the trees at the end of the central alley.  It was hardly a chateau—­half manor, half farm.  We drove into a large courtyard, or rather farmyard, quite deserted; no one visible anywhere; the door of the house was open, but there was no bell nor apparently any means of communicating with any one.  Hubert cracked his whip noisily several times without any result—­and we were just wondering what we should do (perhaps put our cards under a stone on the steps) when a man appeared, said Mme. B. was at home, but she was in the stable looking after a sick cow—­he would go and tell her we were there.  In a few minutes she appeared attired in a short, rusty-black skirt, sabots on her feet, and a black woollen shawl over her head and shoulders.  She seemed quite pleased to see us—­was not at all put out at being caught in such very simple attire—­begged us to come in and ushered us through a long, narrow hall and several cold, comfortless rooms, the shutters not open and no fire anywhere, into her bedroom.  All the furniture—­chairs, tables and bed—­was covered with linen.  She explained that it was her “lessive” (general wash) she had just made, that all the linen was dry, but she had not had time to put it away.  She called a maid and they cleared off two chairs—­she sat on the bed.

It was frightfully cold—­we were thankful we had kept our wraps on.  She said she supposed we would like a fire after our long, cold drive, and rang for a man to bring some wood.  He (in his shirt sleeves) appeared with two or three logs of wood and was preparing to make a fire with them all, but she stopped him, said one log was enough, the ladies were not going to stay long—­so, naturally, we had no fire and clouds of smoke.  She was very talkative, never stopped—­told us all about her servants, her husband’s political campaigns and how W. would never have been named to the Conseil General if M.B. hadn’t done all his work for him.  She asked a great many questions, answering them all herself; then said, “I don’t offer you any tea, as I know you always go back to have your tea at home, and I am quite sure you don’t want any wine.”