As seen from the lake the Villa Lambert, which stood quite alone, gave one the idea of the place a poet would choose for his meditations. The villa and its terrace were built of white stone, but a large portion of the walls was covered with ivy. The house itself was embedded in a thickly-wooded garden where the trees were just budding into leaf. Privacy was evidently what had been aimed at in the arrangement of the place. On looking at it one would instinctively say, _here_ is rest. A large _porte cochère_, which had evidently been long unused, was the chief entrance to the place, and a small wicket, pierced by a grille, and surmounted by a big bell in an iron cage, was the only other means of getting into the garden. The active Capt descended, and seizing the substantial handle rang loudly. The bark of a dog was the only answer, but after repeating the summons several times, the trap in the wicket opened and disclosed the surly face of an old Savoyard. The gifted Capt addressed the old man in numerous dialects, but no answering smile of intelligence illuminated the sulky wooden face; the barred aperture was closed with an angry slam, and Capt instantly recommenced his solo upon the bell. Again the trap opened and a weather-beaten crone answered his summons; at length the door itself was unbarred, and Mr. Capt hastened to assist his mistresses to alight. He explained to them that the guardians of the villa were a Savoyard and his wife, and that the man was probably deaf, but that the woman had expressed her readiness to show them over the house and grounds. The garden was full of trees and thick with evergreen shrubs; the walls covered, as they are in most gardens on the Continent, with carefully trained espaliers, many of which were already white with blossom, which promised an abundant crop. Huge clumps of narcissus gave out their heavy odour; it was too early for other flowers, save the China roses and fuchsias, whose bright colours enlivened the place. The beds were bordered, as in many foreign gardens, by pieces of plank painted a bright blue; the paths, so different from our hard trim English gravel walks, were loose shingle, which had been carefully raked. A goat, chained to a peg, grazed on the unmown lawn; the house itself was jealously shut up, storm blinds and jalousies covering every window. The uncommunicative old gardener continued his interrupted vocation; his wife, quitting the party and entering the house by a back door, suddenly flung open the windows of the drawing-room, and so admitted the visitors.