The banqueting hall of Chillon was nothing short of spectacular. Medieval in atmosphere, its massive stone columns rose from the floor to support overarching wooden beams. The ceiling itself was a thatch of beam upon beam upon beam, discolored by centuries of festivity and defense. The walls were muraled with horizontal zigzags of red and white, and the broad, blackened, stone fireplace was huge enough to shelter a cabriolet and horse. Its mantle was held high by more columns, its fire roaring, the White Cross of the Swiss Confederation emblazoned across the hood. Ornate tapestries hung from ceiling to floor. The wall opposite the fireplace was pierced by the same large Gothic windows as the Heraldic Hall, the pitch blackness of the evening outside resolving them to a mirrored reflection o
