The 14th was fine again, and I resolved on an expedition to Malmaison and Versailles if possible. The road lay through Nanterre, on the _coteau_, but a little elevated above the meadows through which the Seine holds its course. The scenery, without being very striking, was very pleasing and pretty. On my right at some little distance ran the river, beyond which rose a ridge of vine-clad hills, a continuation of those behind Argenteuil; on the left, the vineyard, corn-fields, and rose-gardens terminated in a range of high ground, wooded, continuing from Mont Valerien towards Marly, where the water-works, projecting from the there steep acclivity, formed rather a picturesque object--following the windings of the Seine through a less interesting country (because all corn). In the distance one sees the chateau of St Germain, with its long white terrace, backed by the dark foliage of the park; beneath, the waters of the river glitter like silver in the bright light. Malmaison is on the higher ground; and on ascending to the park-gates, I was pleased to find two neat little lodges, and an entrance perfectly English, which was the style all around. The house had nothing extraordinary in its appearance, but the little lawn in front was redolent of the perfume of the orange-flower, numerous trees being ranged around all in full blossom. I found but few servants in the house; on asking to see which, a lady-like person was called, who acted as cicerone with the easy and graceful manner so characteristic of French women. Had it not been for the interest one attaches to whatever is connected with great or extraordinary people, the houses at Malmaison perhaps were not so much worth seeing as many houses even of our commoners. There was only one room remarkable for its fitting-up, and it was in other respects the most interesting. It was Josephine’s bedroom. A little scene took place here. My companion idolised her former mistress; the recollections of past times and of her beloved Empress, renewed by my questions, overpowered her. I believe she was sincere. The furniture of this room (which was, I think, an octagon) was certainly splendid. Scarlet cloth (very fine) with trimmings of broad gold-lace, and deep gold fringe of bullions. The bed-curtains and coverlet were of the same, and the walls were covered with it instead of paper, the gold-lace serving as a border to the panels, &c. I did not admire the taste of Josephine in this. Here it was she expired. Running at right angles to the front of the house is the _galerie_--a beautiful _salon_, full of exquisite morsels of sculpture, all modern, but in my estimation many of them rivalling the antique. Taking leave of my amiable conductress, I set off to pick my way without a guide through a woody, intricate, wild country, where the openings were of no extent, so that no view could be obtained. After riding up one avenue and down another for some time, I began to fancy I was