A visit to the house of Mrs. George R. Fearing at Fontainebleau gave us a delightful glimpse of French country life. Even the name of the street where she lived, “rue de l’Arbre Sec,” had a promise of romance. Here we found “modern conveniences” and charming hospitality combined with the setting and atmosphere of a French country house. This kind friend had lived so long in France as to become thoroughly acclimated. Indeed, she did not return to America until the sound of the cannon at her gates in the battle of the Marne drove her from her beloved France. The family came together at twelve o’clock, for an excellent luncheon, followed by coffee in the garden. Here the lofty walls gave us a delightful feeling of privacy, even though we were living in the midst of a small town. The European use of the garden as an annex to the house is so eminently reasonable that one can hardly understand why its introduction has been so fiercely fought in our own country. In our friend’s garden, as everywhere in France, the combination of beauty with economy delighted us. Who but the French would think of using spinach as a border to the flower-beds? At three o’clock came the daily drive into the wonderful forest, with a visit to some spot of interest. Our thoughtful hostess always provided a _goûter_ of bread and chocolate, our funny old driver taking his at a little distance apart. When we visited quaint Barbizon, we munched our _goûter_ under the shadow of the monument to its great artists. On our return we dined at seven, and so the pleasant day ended. Among the villages on the borders of the forest, Moret, with its ancient, turreted gates and factory of beautiful chinaware, is especially charming. The dear old church, fast falling into decay, wrung our hearts. “Darby” was a zealous Protestant, but he felt it right to drop something in the “_tronc pour la restauration de l’église_.” Alas! one does not like to think of the decay that must, during the present war, have overtaken many of these beautiful old wayside churches. As the lovely Palace of Fontainebleau was almost at our door we had excellent opportunities of becoming acquainted with it. It is especially satisfactory to the tourist, because the rooms still retain the old artistic furniture. When wandering through them you seem to catch a glimpse of the vanished past with its grandeur. When the time came for us to leave Fontainebleau and start on our pilgrimage, we felt very much like elderly Babes in the Wood, for Caroline was to stay behind with Mrs. Fearing. She had fortified us, however, with much advice. We were especially cautioned to observe her instructions as to the proper amount of the _pourboire_, in order that the hack-drivers might perceive us to be, not perhaps exactly natives, but persons of knowledge who could not be easily imposed upon.