A fortnight later, Gilbert wrote to his friends a letter conceived thus:

"Madame:--I have found here neither fetes, cavalcades, gala-days nor Muscovite beauties.What should we do, I beg to know, with these Muscovite beauties? or perhaps I ought to ask, what would they do with us? We live in the woods; our castle is an old, very old one, and in the moonlight it looks like a specter.What I like best about it, is its long and gloomy corridors, through which the wind sweeps freely; but I assure you that I have not yet encountered there a white robe or a plumed hat.Only the other evening a bat, who had entered by a broken pane, brushed my face with its wing and almost put out my candle.This, up to the present time has been my sole adventure.And as for you, sir, know that I am not obliged to resist the fascinations of my tyrant, for the reason that he has not taken the trouble to be fascinating.

Know also that I am not bored.I am contented; I am enjoying the tranquility of mind which comes from a well-defined, well-regulated, and after all, very supportable position.I am no longer compelled to urge my life on before me and to show it the road; it makes its own way, and I follow it as Martin followed his ass.And then pleasures are not wanting for us,--listen! Our castle is a long series of dilapidated buildings, of which we occupy the only one habitable.I am lodged alone in a turret which commands a magnificent view, and I have a grand precipice under my window.I can say 'my turret,' 'my precipice!' Oh, my poor Parisians, you will never understand all there is in these two words: MY PRECIPICE! 'What is it then but a precipice?' exclaims Madame Lerins.'It is only a great chasm.' Ah, yes! Madame, it is 'a great chasm'; but imagine that this morning this chasm was a deep blue, and this evening at sunset it was--stay, of the color of your nasturtiums.I opened my window and put my head out to inhale the odor of this admirable precipice, for I have discovered that in the evening precipices have an odor.How shall I describe it to you? It is a perfume of rocks scorched by the sun, with which mingles a subtle aroma of dry herbs.The combination is exquisite.

"The proud rock, of which we occupy the summit and which deserves its name of Vulture's Crag, is bounded at the north as you already know, at the west by a ravine which separates it from a range of hills higher and fantastically jagged, and following the windings of the river.This line of hills is not continuous; it is cut by narrow gorges, which open into the valley and through which the last rays of the sun reach us.The other evening there was a red sunset, and one of these gorges seemed to vomit flames; you might have supposed it the mouth of the furnace.Upon the east, from its heights and its terrace, Geierfels overlooks the Rhine, from which it is separated by the main road and a tow-path.At the south it communicates by steep paths with a vast plateau, of which it forms, as it were, the upper story, and which is clothed with a forest of beeches, and furrowed here and there with noisy streams.It is on this side only that our castle is accessible,--and here not to carriages,--even a cart could reach us but with difficulty, and all of our provisions are brought to us upon the backs of men or mules.

Mountains, perpendicular rocks, turrets overhanging a precipice, grand and somber woods, rugged paths and brooks which fall in cascades, do not all these, Madame, make this a very wild and very romantic retreat? On the right bank of the Rhine which stretches out under our eyes, it is another thing.Picture to yourself a landscape of infinite sweetness, a great cultivated plain, which rises by imperceptible gradation to the base of a distant chain of mountains, the undulating outlines of which are traced upon the sky in aerial indentations.