We used to go every evening where we could see the sun set and watch the changing shadows in the broad valley below.
Another great pleasure here was watching the gradual development of my first grandchild, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, born at Paris, on the 3d of May, 1882.

She was a fine child; though only three months old her head was covered with dark hair, and her large blue eyes looked out with intense earnestness from beneath her well-shaped brow.
One night I had a terrible fright.

I was the only person sleeping on the ground floor of the chateau, and my room was at the extreme end of the building, with the staircase on the other side.

I had frequently been cautioned not to leave my windows open, as someone might get in.
But, as I always slept with an open window, winter and summer, I thought I would take the risk rather than endure a feeling of suffocation night after night.

The blinds were solid, and to close them was to exclude all the air, so I left them open about a foot, braced by an iron hook.