The door was opened by a quiet, pale old lady, who gravely bent her head as she recognised Leicester. After one glance of surprise at his young companion, which certainly had no pleasure blended with it, she led the way into a small parlor.
Nothing could be more exquisitely chaste than that little room. The ceilings and the enamelled walls were spotless as crusted snow, and like snow was the light cornice of grape leaves and fruit, that scarcely seemed to touch the ceiling around which they were entwined. No glittering chandelier, no gilded cornices or gorgeous carpets disturbed the pure harmony of this little room; delicate India matting covered the floor; the chairs, divans and couches were of pure white enamel. Curtains of soft, delicate lace, embroidered, as it were, with snow-flakes, draped the sashes. Those at the bay window, which opened on the flower-garden, were held apart by two small statues of Parian marble that stood guarding the tiny alcove, half veiled in clouds of transparent lace.
Upon a massive table of pure alabaster, inlaid with softly clouded agate, stood a Grecian vase, in which a lamp was burning, and through its sculpture poured a subdued light that seemed but a more lustrous kindling of the moonbeams that lay around the dwelling.
The youth had not expressed himself amiss. It did seem as if an angel might have mistaken this dwelling, so chaste, so tranquilly cool, for his permanent home. The clouds of Heaven did not seem more free from earthly taint than everything within it. Robert paused at the threshold; a vague feeling of self-distrust came over him. It seemed as if his presence would soil the mysterious purity of the room. The old lady, with her grave face and black garments, was so at variance with the dwelling, that the very sight of her moving so noiselessly across the room chilled him to the heart.
Leicester sat down on a divan near the window.
"Tell Florence I am here!" he said, addressing the old lady.
For a moment the lady hesitated; then, without having spoken a word, she went out. Directly there was a faint rustling sound on the stairs, a quick, light footstep near the door, and with every appearance of eager haste a young girl entered the room. A morning dress of white muslin, edged with a profusion of delicate lace, clad her slender form from head to foot; a tiny cameo of blood-red coral fastened the robe at her throat, and this was all the ornament visible upon her person.
She entered the room in breathless haste, her dark eyes sparkling, her cheeks warm with a rich crimson, and with both hands extended, approached Leicester. Before she reached the divan the consciousness that a stranger was present fell upon her. She paused, her hands fell, and all the beautiful gladness faded from her countenance.
"A young friend of mine," said Leicester, with an indolent wave of the hand toward Robert. "The evening was so fine, we have been rambling in the park, and being near, dropped in to rest awhile."
The young lady turned with a very slight inclination, and Robert saw the face he had so admired in Leicester's chamber, the beautiful, living original of a picture still engraven on his heart. The surprise was overpowering. He could not speak; and Leicester, who loved to study the human heart in its tumults, smiled softly as he marked the change upon his features.