Not but what it has charms of its own: a plaintive sweetness set in a minor key. The view across the Loire in summer time of emerald woodland is superb. The long drawing-rooms overlooking the stream are of stately proportions. Their immense overhanging chimney-pieces are blazoned with coats of arms sculptured in the stone. Carved crests are repeated again and again in the fretted ceilings. The tapestries, with their shadowy story of mad King Charles the Sixth and his treacherous wife, and the faithful girl, Odette, with their warm background of dimmed gold, have been pronounced by experts to be priceless. The little boudoir at the end which closes the suite is a dainty and cosy nest. Than the country round nothing can be more delightful; you may ride for hours unchecked amid the leafy woods over a velvet carpet; or you may boat and explore the erratic sinuosities of the river, dreaming out epics as you go anent the lordly, but for the most part empty, dwellings that look down on you from either bank. As an irreverent Parisian visitor once observed to a horror-stricken neighbour, "Lorge would be a charming _sejour_ if one might pull down the castle and erect instead a villa." At the time which occupies us there was but one near neighbour resident. The Chateau de Montbazon was not much more than a mile away, having been built on a little bit of Lorge property beyond the Loire, which had changed hands one night at cards. The spot commanded an exceptionally fine prospect, so the owner placed a house on it. It was bought a generation later by the Baron de Vaux, who dwelt there with his wife and daughter, Angelique, and great was the joy of those ladies upon hearing that Lorge, which was so little occupied, was again to be inhabited. Country life at this period was, from a fashionable point of view, a singular anomaly. Marie Antoinette's dairymaid proclivities at Trianon had rendered it _de rigueur_ to find pleasure in bucolic occupations. Old customs were giving way to new-fangled habits borrowed from other nations. You were offered tea as in England instead of coffee, and were invited to join in the game of "boston," brought from the infant republic beyond seas by the followers of Lafayette. Dress, except at the Parisian court, grew simpler. Ladies, instead of brocaded damasks, wore muslins and flimsy materials. Men donned garments of plain cloth instead of satin or velvet. Noble dames grown tired of expensive jewellery affected a badge made of some hero's head executed in miniature. Franklin's or Rousseau's profile was modish, though the more sentimental preferred a pet cat's portrait set on a ribbon in place of a diadem and feathers. Emancipated from trains and furbelows, you could now really move about in the country without much discomfort.