And as he did so, the storm, which had somewhat abated, recommenced with so much fury, that I was fain to accept without further parley, and actually driven before him into the house.

The door was already opened: a very ancient servant stood holding it. Armand had already taken shelter in the hall, which was imperfectly lighted by one pendant lamp.

Mr. Du Chastel and I stood stamping upon the mat, shaking off the snow which had gathered round our feet, and I thought I never felt more comfortable in my life, than when the old servant shut the door and shut out the storm, which was raving and shrieking on the outside.

'Well, sir," said Mr. Du Chastel, cheerfully,

"I do not think you have made a bad exchange Ambrose, have you any supper for

for once.

us ?"

'Yes, Monseigneur-yes, Sir; Madame is in the dining-room, and has kept up a noble fire, and supper will be ready in two minutes."

"She is not up!" said Mr. Du Chastel, hastily.

The old man smiled, and shook his head. "Madame is not used to be on down when others are in the desert," he said.

Mr. Du Chastel, with a brief apology, and consigning me to the care of his son, ran hastily up stairs. The young man and I followed more at leisure, and I had a little time to observe the appearances of things.

The hall-for it was a hall-was lined with carved oak, the beadings and other lines of which had once been gilded. When I say carved oak, it must not be supposed that there was any superfluous or elaborate flourish of ornament, such as at that date was not uncommon; all was simple and plain, yet handsome and costly to a certain degree. The feeble rays of the one pendant lamp threw a dim and uncertain light upon these wainscotted walls, leaving the remoter corners in deep shadow, and throwing the principal illumination upon a noble flight of shallow stairs, made of chestnut wood, with a rich and heavy balustrade banister of carved

oak-work. A very elaborate and very fine piece this was, where the artist had indulged in all that exuberance of fancy in flowers, branches of trees, birds, insects, animals, with a rich abundance and superfluity of ornament, which may be seen in great perfection in many churches in Flanders and elsewhere on the continent, and the vestiges of which still exist in ancient mansionhouses of our own country. It is an art which seems to defy the rules of all art, but pleases, as nature pleases, by a sort of unstudied profusion of creation.

The loud clicking of a very ancient, and it might be almost called grand clock, sounded through the hall, the face of which was adorned with a representation of the sun, moon, and deep blue heavens, all bespangled over with golden stars. It stood at the foot of the stairs, the fingers now marking half-past twelve; before it, a ponderous table of heavy carved wood, upon enormous richly-ornamented legs, was placed between two magnificent carved high-backed chairs, of the most rich and elaborate description; against the opposite wall, a sort of trophy,

consisting of cuirass, back-piece, gloves, steel cap, and, in short, such armour and such arms as were in use in the wars of the sixteenth century, reflected glistening the rays of the lamp; upon each side hung two sheathed swords, both of which, by the rich gilding and ormolu of the hilts, shewed that they had belonged to personages of distinction. Beneath these there was another table, and upon each side very ancient cabinets, or rather wardrobes, of rich marqueterie, were standing, with the doors closed. More of the same carved high-backed chairs, of which I have spoken, completed a furnishing, the details of which faded into ob scurity as they receded from the somewhat faint light of the lamp.

This lamp itself was not unworthy of notice. It was of bronze, and in the finest, though the severest, style of Italian art. The hall was paved with black and white marble. The stairs, of dark polished wood, had no carpet. There was not, in fact, a single object to give the relief of a brighter colouring to the grave and somewhat gloomy simplicity of the whole.

It appeared to me that Armand purposely delayed and lingered whilst he got rid of his cloak, whilst the old servant was helping me off with my wet great-coat. He carried it to the other end of the hall, as though he would hang it up; yet hesitated, and came back again, and gave it to Ambrose at last, with

"It must be dried first." Then he pulled down his sleeves, slightly arranged his hair, all which operations took up about five minutes, which seemed to me unnecessarily long, then with

"Now, if you please to follow me, sir," he mounted the stairs two or three at a time, light as a gazelle, and unclosing a rich and lofty door of gilded oak, which opened into the short gallery terminating the staircase, I was ushered into the apartment within.

It was lofty and handsome, but of the same severe character as the hall; very high, narrow windows were surmounted by dark cornices from which depended curtains of rich silk brocade of a deep sombre purple brown. A noble mantel-piece of equally dark wood sur