around to the west where, at the water's edge and abruptly above it, towered a tall broad rock upon which was built a great gay mansion.
It was of white stone with smooth, round towers topped with lofty, graceful, conical roofs. Copper sheathed the cones; copper, gleaming in the sun, formed the surface of the slopes of the main roof. Tall, mullioned windows, in pairs and tiers, looked out from the walls and pierced the towers. It was like a French chateau; definitely, indeed, it reminded me of the great mansion known as the "water-lily"—Azay-le-Rideau. Someone here had raised a replica of the water-lily mansion for his summer dwelling.
In the calm and quiet of this warm, sunny forenoon, it brooded above the lake as though it had always been there.
People appeared on the terrace before it. From a chimney in the rear, a vague haze spoke of kitchens preparing a midday meal.
The ripples from the splash of our pontoons reached the rock, and, in the stillness, voices returned to us. Our voices, we realized,
