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ENTRANCE TO LANGEAIS, WITH DRAWBRIDGE 98 CAFÉ RABELAIS OPPOSITE CHÂTEAU OF LANGEAIS 108 CHÂTEAU OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU, EAST FAÇADE 112 CHÂTEAU OF LANGEAIS, FROM THE LOIRE 120 CHÂTEAU OF AMBOISE, FROM OPPOSITE BANK OF THE LOIRE 130 CHENONCEAUX, MARQUES TOWER AND GALLERY ACROSS THE CHER 154 HOUSE OF TRISTAN L'HERMITE 178 AGNES SOREL 188 ENTRANCE TO CHÂTEAU OF BLOIS, WITH STATUE OF LOUIS XII 214 COURT OF BLOIS, WITH STAIRCASE OF FRANCIS I 228 LOUISE DE LA VALLIÈRE 238 CHÂTEAU OF CHAUMONT, THE LOIRE ON THE LEFT 264 SMITHY NEAR GATE OF CHEVERNY
FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY MRS OTIS SKINNER 278 ANNE DE THOU, DAME DE CHEVERNY 282 CHÂTEAU OF CHAMBORD 286 RUINS OF CHÂTEAU OF COUDRAY AT CHINON 296 FRENCH CAVE DWELLINGS NEAR SAUMUR 316 FORGE NEAR STONE STAIRWAY AT LUYNES
FROM PHOTOGRAPH BY MRS OTIS SKINNER 354 HÔTEL CABU 364 HOUSE OF JOAN OF ARC 364 SALLE DES MARRIAGES, ORLEANS 366

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IN CHÂTEAU LAND

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I

AN EMBARRASSMENT OF CHÂTEAUX

You will be surprised, dear Margaret, to have a letter from me here instead of from Touraine. We fully intended to go directly from the Dolomites and Venice to Milan and on to Tours, stopping a day or two in Paris en route, but Miss Cassandra begged for a few days on Lake Como, as in all her travels by sea and shore she has never seen the Italian lakes. We changed our itinerary simply to be obliging, but Walter and I have had no reason to regret the change for one minute.

Beautiful as you and I found this region in June, I must admit that its August charms are more entrancing and pervasive. Instead of the clear blues, greens and purples of June, the light haze that veils the mountain tops brings out the same indescribable opalescent shades of heliotrope, azure and rose that we thought belonged exclusively to the Dolomites. However, these mountains are first cousins, once or twice removed, to the Eastern Italian and Austrian Alps and have a good right to a family likeness. There is something almost intoxicating in the ethereal beauty of this lake, something that goes to one's head like wine. I don't wonder that poets and artists rave about its charms, of which not the least is its infinite variety. The scene changes so quickly. The glow of color fades, a cloud obscures the sun, the blue and purple turn to gray in an instant, and we descend from a hillside garden, where gay flowers gain added brilliancy from the sun, to a cypress-bordered path where the grateful shade is so dense that we walk in twilight and listen to the liquid note of the nightingale, or the blackcap, whose song is sometimes mistaken for that of his more distinguished neighbor.

This morning when we were resting in a hillside pavilion, near the Villa Giulia, gazing upon the sapphire lake and the line of purple Alps beyond, we concluded that nothing was needed to complete the beauty of the scene but a snow mountain in the distance, when lo! as if in obedience to our call, a cloud that shrouded some far-off peaks slowly lifted, revealing to us the shining crest of Monte Rosa. It really seemed as if Monte Rosa had amiably thrown up that dazzling white shoulder for our especial delectation. This