In proportion as I approached the seigneurial park the wild perfumes of the forest were mingled with those of the lilacs and acacias, whose blooming heads leaned over the wall. Soon through the shrubbery I saw the windows of the manor gleaming behind their curtains of purple moire, divided by the dark crossbars of the frame work. It was a magnificent castle of the renaissance, a _chef-d’œuvre_ of taste mingled with caprice, one of those dwellings where one is impressed by something indescribably ingenious and bold, which from the imagination of the architect seems to pass into one’s own, and take possession of it, raising it above the usages and preoccupations of a positive world. I confess that my heart beat fast in giving my name to the lackey commissioned to announce me. I had never seen Madame d’Ionis; she passed for one of the prettiest women in the country, was twenty-two, and had a husband who was neither handsome nor amiable, and who neglected her in order to travel. Her writing was charming, and she found means to show not only a great deal of sense, but still more cleverness in her business letters. Altogether she was a very fine character. This was all that I knew of her, and it was sufficient for me to dread appearing awkward or provincial. I grew pale on entering the salon. My first impression then was one of relief and pleasure, when I found myself in the presence of two stout and very ugly old women, one of whom, Madame the Dowager d’Ionis informed me that her daughter-in-law was at the house of her friends in the neighborhood, and probably would not return before the next day. “You are welcome, all the same,” added this matron. “We have a very friendly and grateful feeling for your father, and it appears that we stand in great need of his counsel, which you are without doubt charged to communicate to us.” “I came from him,” I replied, “to talk over the affair with Madame d’Ionis.” “The Countess d’Ionis does in fact occupy herself with business affairs,” replied the dowager, rather coldly, as if to warn me that I had committed a blunder. “She understands it, she has a good head, and in the absence of my son, who is at Vienna, she is conducting this wearisome and interminable law suit. You must not depend upon me to replace her, for I understand nothing about it, and all that I can do is to retain you until the countess’ return, and offer you a supper, such as it may be, and a good bed.” Hereupon the old lady, who in spite of the little lesson she had given me, appeared a good enough woman, rang and gave orders for making me at home. I refused to eat anything, having taken care to do so on the road, and knowing that nothing is more annoying than to eat alone, and under the eyes of people with whom one happens to be totally unacquainted.