But much as I like all this, it was not this that attracted me here.
That was the situation. The house stands in a small garden, separated
from the road by an old gnarled hedge of hazel. It is almost on the
crest of the hill on the south bank of the Marne,--the hill that is the
water-shed between the Marne and the Grand Morin. Just here the Marne
makes a wonderful loop, and is only fifteen minutes walk away from my
gate, down the hill to the north.
From the lawn, on the north side of the house, I command a panorama
which I have rarely seen equaled. To me it is more beautiful than that
we have so often looked at together from the terrace at Saint-Germain.
In the west the new part of Esbly climbs the hill, and from there to a
hill at the northeast I have a wide view of the valley of the Marne,
backed by a low line of hills which is the water-shed between the Marne
and the Aisne. Low down in the valley, at the northwest, lies lie de
Villenoy, like a toy town, where the big bridge spans the Marne to carry
the railroad into Meaux. On the horizon line to the west the tall
chimneys of Claye send lines of smoke into the air.
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