These cables were riveted soundly in the
solid rock of the cliff at one end and fastened as safely to the stone
walls of the chateau at the other. It swung staunchly from its moorings,
with the constancy of a suspension bridge, and trembled at the slightest
touch.
It was at least a hundred feet square. The floor was covered with a foot
or more of soil in which the rich grass and plants of the tropics
flourished. There were tiny flower beds in the center; baby palms,
patchouli plants and a maze of interlacing vines marked the edges of
this wonderful garden in mid-air. Cool fountains sprayed the air at
either end of the green enclosure: the illusion was complete.
The walls surrounding the garden were three feet high and were intended
to represent the typical English garden wall of brick. To gain access to
the hanging garden, one crossed a narrow bridge, which led from the
second balcony of the chateau. There was not an hour in the day when
protection from the sun could not be found in this little paradise.
Bobby Browne was holding forth, with his usual exuberance, on the
magnificence of the British navy. The Marquess of B----, uncle to the
Princess, swelled with pride as he sat at the table and tasted his julep
through the ever-obliging straw.
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