The rain, which had been threatening all the afternoon, came down in torrents just as we crossed the drawbridge, much to the disappointment of our host and hostess, who were anxious to show us their garden, which is famous in all the countryside.  However, in spite of the driving rain, we caught glimpses through the windows of splendid parterres of salvias and cannas, making great spots of colour in a beautiful bit of smooth green lawn.  In old days the chateau was much bigger, stretching out to the towers.  Each successive proprietor has diminished the buildings, and the present chateau, at the back, stands some little distance from the moat, the vacant space being now transformed into their beautiful gardens.

We only saw the ground-floor of the house, which is most comfortable.  We left our wraps in the large square hall and passed through one drawing-room and a small library into another, which is charming—­a corner room looking on the gardens—­the walls, panels of light gray wood, prettily carved with wreaths and flowers.

We had tea in the dining-room on the other side of the hall; a curious room, rather, with red brick walls and two old narrow doors of carved oak.  The tea—­most abundant—­was very acceptable after our long damp drive.  One dish was rather a surprise—­American waffles—­not often to be found, I imagine, in an old French feudal castle, but Madame de Mimont’s nationality explained it.  I was very sorry not to see the park which is beautifully laid out, but the rain was falling straight down as hard as it could—­almost making waves in the moat, and a curtain of mist cut off the end of the park.

Our dinner and evening at La Grange were delightful.  The dining-room is particularly charming at night.  The flowers on the table, this evening, were red, and the lights from the handsome silver candelabres made a brilliant spot of warmth and colour against the dark panelled walls—­just shining on the armour of the fine Ormond portraits hanging on each side of the fireplace.  The talk was always easy and pleasant.

One of the guests, the naval attache to the British Embassy to France, had been “en mission” at Madrid at the time of the Spanish Royal marriage.  The balcony of the English Embassy overlooked the spot where the bomb was thrown.  In eighty-five seconds from the time they heard the detonation (in the first second they thought it was a salute), the Ambassador, followed by his suite, was at the door of the royal carriage.  He said the young sovereigns looked very pale but calm; the king, perhaps, more agitated than the Queen.