It is now easy to understand the full meaning of the term, " the house of Monsieur Grandet, " —that cold, silent, pallid dwelling, standing above the town and sheltered by the ruins of the ramparts.

The two pillars and the arch, which made the porte-cochere on which the door opened, were built, like the house itself, of tufa, —a white stone peculiar to the shores of the Loire, and so soft that it lasts hardly more than two centuries.

Numberless irregular holes, capriciously bored or eaten out by the inclemency of the weather, gave an appearance of the vermiculated stonework of French architecture to the arch and the side walls of this entrance, which bore some resemblance to the gateway of a jail.

Above the arch was a long bas-relief, in hard stone, representing the four seasons, the faces already crumbling away and blackened.

This bas-relief was surmounted by a projecting plinth, upon which a variety of chance growths had sprung up, —yellow pellitory, bindweed, convolvuli, nettles, plantain, and even a little cherry-tree, already grown to some height.

The door of the archway was made of solid oak, brown, shrunken, and split in many places; though frail in appearance, it was firmly held in place by a system of iron bolts arranged in symmetrical patterns.

A small square grating, with close bars red with rust, filled up the middle panel and made, as it were, a motive for the knocker, fastened to it by a ring, which struck upon the grinning head of a huge nail.

This knocker, of the oblong shape and kind which our ancestors called jaquemart, looked like a huge note of exclamation; an antiquary who examined it attentively might have found indications of the figure, essentially burlesque, which it once represented, and which long usage had now effaced.

Through this little grating—intended in olden times for the recognition of friends in times of civil war—inquisitive persons could perceive, at the farther end of the dark and slimy vault, a few broken steps which led to a garden, picturesquely shut in by walls that were thick and damp, and through which oozed a moisture that nourished tufts of sickly herbage.

These walls were the ruins of the ramparts, under which ranged the gardens of several neighboring houses.