But let us look at
the interior.
"There are some pictures on the walls, and there are yellow stains
where others hung. Where are they? for I think I heard a man say he
bought them on account of their handsome frames, from that
crack-brained officer at Cucumber Lake; and he shut his eye, and
looked knowing and whispered, 'Something wrong there, had to sell out
of the army; some queer story about another wife still living; don't
know particulars.' Poor Dechamps, you are guiltless of that charge at
any rate, to my certain knowledge; but how often does slander bequeath
to folly that which of right belongs to crime! The nick-knacks, the
antique china, the Apostles' spoons, the queer little old-fashioned
silver ornaments, the French clock, the illustrated works, and all
that sort of thing,--all, all are gone. The housemaids broke some, the
children destroyed others, and the rest were sent to auction, merely
to secure their preservation. The paper is stained in some places, in
others has peeled off; but where under the sun have all the
accomplishments gone to?
"The piano got out of tune, and there was nobody to put it in order:
it was no use; the strings were taken out, and the case was converted
into a cupboard. The machinery of the harp became rusty, and the cords
were wanted for something else. But what is the use of these things in
the woods where there is nobody to see them? But here is Mrs Dechamps.
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