"We shall never see him again," I exclaimed, "and he will always remember us as those rude and unappreciative Americans!" "And what have we done to deserve such an opinion?" asked Walter. "Attacked them on their most sensitive point. A Frenchman prides himself, above everything else, upon the _cuisine_ of his country, and considers American living altogether crude and uncivilized." "And is _that_ all, Zelphine, and don't you think it about time that they should learn better; and who is the _he_ in question, anyhow?" When I explained about the Frenchman, who was seated behind him and understood every invidious word, Walter, instead of being contrite, said airily that he regretted that he had not spoken French as that would probably have been beyond Mr. Crapaud's comprehension. A number of coaches were standing in front of the little inn, one of which Miss Cassandra and Lydia engaged in order to save their strength for the many steps to be taken in and around the chateau; but they did not save much, after all, as the coaches all stop at the end of the first avenue of plane trees at a railroad crossing and after this another long avenue leads to the grounds. Walter and I thought that we decidedly had the best of it, as we strolled through the picturesque little village, and having our kodaks with us we were able to get some pretty bits by the way, among other things a photograph of a sixteenth century house in which the pages of Francis I are said to have been lodged. [Illustration: CHENONCEAUX, MARQUES TOWER AND GALLERY ACROSS THE CHER] Passing up the long avenue we made a _detour_ to the left, attracted by some rich carvings at the end of the tennis court,--and what a tennis court it is!--smooth, green, beautifully made, with a background of forest trees skirting it on two sides.