"Then, my friend," said Franzius, "I knew what love was—it is the birth of music in the heart, it is the music itself, the little birds try to tell us this. I had loved her without knowing from the first day; and when knowledge came to me I was still dumb; dumb as a miser who speaks not of his gold; till yesterday, when I told her all. She cried out and ran from me, and hid herself in the house, and I thought she was offended. I thought she did not love me, I thought the music had lied to me, and that there was no God, that the flowers were fiends in disguise, the sun a goblin. I came to Paris, I walked here and there, I met you, my distress was great. Then I returned to Etiolles. It was evening, towards sunset, and, coming through the wood near the Pavilion, I saw her.
"She had taken her seat on the root of an old tree; her basket of needlework was by her side, and in her lap was an old coat; she had made me bring it to the Pavilion some days before, saying she would mend it. I thought she had forgotten it, but now it was in her lap; her needle was in her hand, and she had just finished mending a rent in the sleeve. Then she held it up as if to see were there any more to be done; then—she kissed it."
"So that——"
"Ah, my friend, all is right with me now. I have come home to the home that has been waiting for me all these weary years. Often when I have looked back at my wanderings I have said to myself, Why? It all seemed so useless and leading nowhere—such a zig-zag road here and there across Europe on foot, poor as ever when the year was done. But now I see that every footstep of that journey was a footstep nearer to her, and I praise God."
He ceased, and I bowed my head. The holy spirit of Love seemed present in that room, and I dared not break the sacred silence with words.
It was broken by the opening of the door, and the cheery voice of M. le Vicomte bidding me introduce him to my friend.
CHAPTER XXIX IN THE SUNK GARDEN
I shall never forget that déjeûner, and the kindness of my guardian to poor Franzius. The tall footmen who served us may have wondered at this very unaccustomed guest; but had the Emperor been sitting in Franzius' place M. le Vicomte could not have laid himself out more to please. And from no hidden motive. Franzius was his guest, he had invited him to déjeûner, he saw the Bohemian was ill at ease in his strange surroundings, and with exquisite delicacy only attainable by a man of good birth, trained in all the subtleties of life, he set himself the task of setting his guest at ease.