Moss covers the worn stone steps.
Sometimes a ray of light, passing through a crack in the walls, strikes a green blade and makes it gleam in the dark like a star.
We wandered through the halls, through the towers, and over the narrow curtain with its gaping machicolations, which attract the eye irresistibly to the abyss below.
On the second floor is a small room which looks out into the inside courtyard and has a massive oak door that closes with a latch.

The beams of the ceiling (you can touch them), are rotten from age; the whitewashed walls show their lattice-work and are covered with big spots; the window-panes are obscured by cobwebs and their frames are buried in dust.

This used to be Chateaubriand's room.

It faces the West, towards the setting sun.
We continued; when we passed in front of a window or a loop-hole, we warmed ourselves in the warm air coming from without, and this sudden transition rendered the ruins all the more melancholy and cheerless.

The floors of the apartments are rotting away, and daylight enters through the fireplaces along the blackened slab where rain has left long green streaks.