Forget your stilettos, the cobbles in the flowered courtyard continue into the deeply attractive bar and restaurant of this 16th-century island in a rebuilt town. It is a maze of passageways, burnished beams and tiny staircases. A copper washbasin greets you at the top of the stairs leading to the rooms. Looking down from a glassed-in corridor, you can almost hear the clatter of hooves arriving in the courtyard, now a quiet terrace for afternoon tea and snacks; the passengers jostling between Paris and Brussels were probably delighted to be delayed at this bustling staging inn. Bedrooms are all differently quirky, one with tapestried curtains and walls, another with red bricks and wooden struts, some not too well lit, all with baths and bathrobes. There are two larger, lighter ground-floor rooms with post-modern lamps and tables. Downstairs, where a suit of armour guards a wooden reception dais, the evenings sparkle when the main restaurant is lit by candles. Monsieur Beine takes great trouble devising new menus with his chef and most diners would raise a glass in his direction.
