It is a wondrous thing to be at a place thronging with people and suddenly find oneself alone. As we fled through bosquets from an obnoxious family who thoughtlessly destroyed the sense of the picturesque by riding segways about the avenues we suddenly emerged at the bottom of an immense flight of stairs and found the orangerie without a single soul within. Some of the orange trees from Portugal, Spain and Italy, and lemon and pomegranate trees are over 200 years old they say, and Jules Hardouin-Mansart’s invention was a truly beautiful sight. Drawing Miss H and Kitty’s attention to our great good fortune (and my superlative tour guiding skills) to be there without any other visitors, we stood enraptured upon the staircase thanking our lucky stars that no vulgar tourists sullied our view before taking quantities of photographs and running up the stairs to buy essential supplies of Marie Antoinette souvenirs. Another day well spent.