She would have us go up the shining stairs. "You must see the room of Monsieur l'Abbé," she said, "it is all ready for him. He comes to-night. We have been for days and days getting his room and all the house, prepared for him." There were purple and white asters in bowls and vases. The floor of the room shone like a golden floor. The old green shadowy mirror reflected the room as if it were a dream room, into which one might pass, just stepping through the tarnished lovely frame. The bed was covered with a very fine ancient green-and-white striped brocade. On the bed, under the crucifix and the Holy Water basin and the spray of box, there were laid out Monsieur l'Abbé's soutane and his soft hat with the tassel. His embroidered worsted slippers stood on the golden floor beside the bed. "He is Madame's eldest son," said the old nurse, "and he is a great and wonderful saint. A great and wonderful saint." "But," she said, as we went out of his room to the stairs, "it was always Monsieur Xaxa that Madame loved best." As we went down the stairs she added, "He was a wild boy, but we adored him. He was always wild, not like Monsieur l'Abbé. But how we adored him!" She said, "I thought Madame would die the day he went away. But yet it is he who is dead, since seven months, and Madame and I, we live." Château The gates stand open. Some one has broken open the gates. Or perhaps no one had troubled to close them. The porter's lodge, under the limes, is empty. The avenue of ancient, stately lime trees that leads to the château, is overgrown, in this one year, deep with grass and moss. The trees, that have not been trimmed, shade it too darkly. The leaves of the lime-trees are falling. In another year it would seem strange if the leaves fell so, before the end of August; but in this year no death seems strange. The dead leaves lie deep in the avenue. At the end of the avenue the château stands, helplessly. Through long times and much history, its towers commanded the valley and the great road of the river. Its name rang in high councils, and its banners knew the winds of many wars. Again its sons went out to battle. They were three of them. They went, just more than a year ago, three gay young chasseurs alpins. They are all three of them dead, on the field of honour. The little aged orange trees are all dead in their green tubs in the courtyard. The ivy has grown across the great barred entrance door. The lantern over the door is full of swallows' nests. The old Monsieur and the old Madame are gone away. How could they have lived on in the house that was not to be for their sons? We asked many people in the village, but no one knew where they had gone. Shopping I