The big drawing-room was entirely panelled in wood of the same light green, most beautifully and delicately carved. These old boiseries were all removed when the château was sold. After the death of the Duchesse de Tourzel the château went to her niece, the Duchesse des Cars--who left it to her niece, the Duchesse de Vallambrosa, a very rare instance, in France, of a property descending directly through several generations in the female line. It was sold by the Vallambrosas. The old wood panels are in the Paris house of a member of that family. The park was very large and beautifully laid out, with the fine trees one sees all over Normandy. Twenty years ago a salle de spectacle "en verdure" still existed in the park--the seats were all in grass; the coulisses (side scenes) made in the trees of the park--their boughs cut and trained into shape, to represent green walls, a marble group of allegorical figures at the back. It was most carefully preserved--the seats of the amphitheatre looked like green velvet and the trees were always cut in the same curious shapes. It seemed quite a fitting part of the fine old place, with its memories of past fêtes and splendours, before the whirlwind of liberty and equality swept over the country. Many of the châteaux are changing hands. The majorat (entail) doesn't exist in France, and as the fortunes must always be divided among the children, it becomes more and more difficult to keep up the large places. Life gets dearer every day--fortunes don't increase--very few young Frenchmen of the upper classes do anything. The only way of keeping up the big places is by making a rich marriage--the daughter of a rich banker or industrial, or an American. * * * * * Our cousins, Comte and Comtesse d'Y----, have a pretty little old place not very far from Villers-sur-Mer, where we went sometimes for sea-bathing. The house is an ordinary square white stone building, a fine terrace with a flight of steps leading down to the garden on one side. The park is delightful--many splendid old trees. Until a few years ago there were still some that dated since Louis XIV. The last one of that age--a fine oak, with wide spreading branches--died about two years ago, but they cannot make up their minds to cut it down. I advised them to leave the trunk standing--(I think, by degrees, the branches will fall as they are quite dead)--cover it with ivy or a vine of some kind, and put a notice on it of the age of the tree. The house stands high, and they have splendid views--on one side, from the terrace, a great expanse of green valley looking toward Falaise--on the other, the sea--a beautiful, blue summer sea, when we were there the other day.