Mme. de Thury and I fraternised a little and I should have liked to see more of her, but soon after that evening they had great trouble.  They had a great deal of illness and lost a son.  I never saw Thury till after both of them were dead.  The chateau had been sold, most of the furniture taken away and the whole place had a deserted, neglected look that made one feel quite miserable.  The big drawing-room was piled up with straw, over the doors were still two charming dessus-de-porte, the colours quite fresh—­not at all faded—­chickens were walking about in another room, and upstairs in a pretty corner room, with a lovely view over woods and park, was a collection of photographs, engravings (one the mother of the late owner), a piece of unfinished tapestry, samplers, china vases, books, papers, two or three knots of faded ribbon, all tossed in a corner like a heap of rubbish.  The things had evidently been forgotten in the big move, but it looked melancholy.

The chateau must have been charming when it was furnished and lived in.  Quantities of rooms, a long gallery with small rooms on one side, the “garconniere” or bachelors’ quarters, led directly into the church, where many Thurys are sleeping their last sleep.  The park was beautiful and there was capital shooting.  W. had often shot there in the old days when their shooting parties were famous.

We ended our evening with music, the bride playing extremely well.  Mme. de Thury also sang very well.  She had learnt in Italy and sang in quite bravura style.  The evening didn’t last very long after the men came in.  Everybody was anxious to get the long, cold drive over.

I enjoyed myself very much.  It was my first experience of a French country entertainment and it was very different from what I had expected.  Not at all stiff and a most cordial welcome.  I thought—­rather naively perhaps—­that it was the beginning of many entertainments of the same kind, but I never dined out again in the country.  It is only fair to say that we never asked any one to dine either.  It was not the habit of the house, and I naturally fell into their ways.  Luncheon was what people liked best, so as not to be too late on the road or to cross the forest after nightfall, when the darkness was sometimes impenetrable.  Some of the chatelaines received once a week.  On that day a handsome and plentiful luncheon was provided and people came from the neighbouring chateaux, and even from Paris, when the distance was not too great and the trains suited.

* * * * *