The immense chimney, with a large stone mantel, and andirons of massive iron, smoked a little, but by way of compensation, the windows latticed with lead, and the heavy doors of oak were not hermetically sealed, and the smoke found a way of escape through the numerous openings.
The north wind, entering these cracks, made a shrill whistle, which was victoriously combatted by the merry crackling of the beech and olive logs which burned in the fireplace.
The walls, simply plastered with lime, as well as the ceiling with its great projecting girders of black oak, had no other ornament than the skins of foxes and badgers and wolves, nailed at symmetrical distances by the careful hand of the majordomo.
In the spaces between the skins hung fishing-lines, weapons of the chase, whips, and spurs; and as curiosities, a Moorish bridle with its two-edged bit and top-not of crimson silk.
On an oak dresser, with a beautifully bowed front, stood an ancient and massive silver plate, whose richness contrasted singularly with the almost savage rusticity of the hall.
Great bottles of white glass were filled with the generous wines of Provence and Languedoc; smaller flagons contained Spanish wines, easily and promptly brought from Barcelona by coasting ships.
A few rustic valets, attired in cassocks of brown serge, served the table under the orders of the major-domo, the liveries with the colours of the baron never leaving the wardrobe except on feast-days.
The oblong table placed near the fireside rested on a thick carpet of Spanish broom or esparto. The rest of the hall was paved with flags of sandstone.
At the head of the table was the armorial chair of Raimond V.; at his right, the cover for his daughter, at his left, the cover for the stranger,—a custom of touching hospitality.
Below this place was the cover for the chaplain.