She repeated these last words very emphatically, and found comfort in doing so. They rushed through villages, and climbed hills between woods of young, freshly planted trees. Finally they slowed down in a quaint little village with a green, and a big pump in the middle of it round which was a little group of idle men. There was a small church on a rising knoll outside the village, and then they came to some beautifully wrought iron gates between two tall grey stone pillars. The gates were open, and they glided up an avenue of chestnut trees now in full bloom. At intervals there were great stone vases and blue wooden seats, then they rounded a curve and the Château was in sight. In the mellow afternoon sunshine Adrienne admired it. It was a grey stone building with a deep blue slated roof; long, narrow windows were on either side of a very handsome front door under a stone portico. A flat stone terrace ran along the whole length of the Château. A fountain was playing into a marble basin at one end of it. Statuettes of boys and nymphs adorned the low stone wall that edged the terrace. There was an untidy piece of park surrounding the Château, cows were grazing in it. The trees were few in number, but there was an old walled garden behind the house, and quite a long line of stables and outbuildings. There appeared to be no flowers, but some young orange and myrtle trees were in blue painted tubs just outside the front door. Before Adrienne had had time to pull the heavy iron bell-handle, the door was opened, and an old white-haired butler appeared, bowing low before her. "Is Madame at home?" Adrienne asked in her best French. He led the way without a word across a dark polished parquetry floor, then up a broad shallow flight of stone steps along a wide corridor which contained some rather shabby settees ranged against the walls, one or two gilt tables, and some good oil paintings hanging from a highly decorated ceiling. Pierre, the old manservant, threw open a beautifully carved mahogany door halfway down the corridor, and Adrienne was in the presence of her aunt. She was a small slight woman with pale golden hair, and a pathetically sad-looking face. She was dressed in black, and had a black lace mantilla wound round her head and neck. Adrienne thought that she looked more youthful than ever, but she was well over sixty years of age. She carried herself well, and her face was rouged and powdered. She had very pretty, delicate hands and used them in talking, as a Frenchwoman would have done. "At last!" she exclaimed, as she drew Adrienne forwards by both her hands, and imprinted two dainty kisses upon each cheek in turn.