The long windows overlooked a broad terrace, enclosed in a grey stone balustrade, from which some half-dozen steps led to a garden below.

Beyond that ran the swift waters of the Loire, and beyond that again, in the distance, we beheld the famous Chateau de Chambord, built in the days of the first Francis.
I had but remarked these details when the door again opened, to admit a short, slender man in whose black hair and beard the hand of time had scattered but little of that white dust that marks its passage.

His face was pale, thin, and wrinkled, and his grey eyes had a nervous, restless look that dwelt not long on anything.

He was dressed in black, with simple elegance, and his deep collar and ruffles were of the finest point.
"Welcome to Canaples, M.de Mancini!" he exclaimed, as he hurried forward, with a smile so winning that his countenance appeared transfigured by it.

"Welcome most cordially! We had not hoped that you would arrive so soon, but fortunately my daughters, to whom you appear to have been of service at Choisy, warned me that you were journeying hither.