In the garden, among the lilac-bushes and the shrubs that droop over the alleys, rises the chapel, a work of the sixteenth century, chiselled at every angle, a perfect jewel, even more intricately decorated inside than out, cut out like the paper covering of a bonbonniere, and cunningly sculptured like the handle of a Chinese parasol.  On the door is a bas-relief which is very amusing and ingenuous.  It represents the meeting of Saint Hubert with the mystic stag, which bears a cross between its antlers.  The saint is on his knees; above him hovers an angel who is about to place a crown on his cap; near them stands the saint’s horse, watching the scene with a surprised expression; the dogs are barking and on the mountain, the sides and facets of which are cut to represent crystals, creeps the serpent.  You can see its flat head advancing toward some leafless trees that look like cauliflowers.  They are the sort of trees one comes upon in old Bibles, spare of foliage, thick and clumsy, bearing blossoms and fruit but no leaves; the symbolical, theological, and devout trees that are almost fantastical on account of their impossible ugliness.  A little further, Saint Christopher is carrying Jesus on his shoulders; Saint Antony is in his cell, which is built on a rock; a pig is retiring into its hole and shows only its hind-quarters and its corkscrew tail, while a rabbit is sticking its head out of its house.

Of course, it is all a little clumsy and the moulding is not faultless.  But there is so much life and movement about the figure and the animals, so much charm in the details, that one would give a great deal to be able to carry it away and take it home.

Inside of the Chateau, the insipid Empire style is reproduced in every apartment.  Almost every room is adorned with busts of Louis-Philippe and Madame Adelaide.  The present reigning family has a craze for being portrayed on canvas.  It is the bad taste of a parvenu, the mania of a grocer who has accumulated money and who enjoys seeing himself in red, white, and yellow, with his watch-charms dangling over his stomach, his bewhiskered chin and his children gathered around him.

On one of the towers, and in spite of the most ordinary common sense, they have built a glass rotunda which is used for a dining-room.  True, the view from it is magnificent.  But the building presents so shocking an appearance from the outside, that one would, I should think, prefer to see nothing of the environs, or else to eat in the kitchen.

In order to go back to the city, we came down by a tower that was used by carriages to approach the Chateau.  The sloping gravelled walk turns around a stone axle like the steps of a staircase.  The arch is dark and lighted only by the rays that creep through the loop-holes.  The columns on which the interior end of the vault rests, are decorated with grotesque or vulgar subjects.  A dogmatic intention seems to have presided over their composition.  It would