So just what I came abroad to avoid, I found on the very threshold where I came to rest.

We had good linguists at the chateau, and every document finally came forth in English dress, which, however, often needed much altering and polishing.

This was my part of the work.

So, away off in the heart of France, high up in the Black Mountains, surrounded with French-speaking relatives and patois-speaking peasants, I found myself once more putting bad English into the best I could command, just as I had so often done in America, when editor of _The Revolution_, or when arranging manuscript for "The History of Woman Suffrage." But it was labor in the cause of my sex; it was aiding in the creation of "The Woman Question in Europe," and so my pen did not grow slack nor my hand weary.
The scenery in the Black Mountains is very grand, and reminds one of the lofty ranges of mountains around the Yosemite Valley in California.

In the distance are the snow-capped Pyrenees, producing a solemn beauty, a profound solitude.