What, then, was this thing called Love, which I had never known, the thing which I had never guessed till to-day, till this evening, there in the sunk garden of Saluce, in the dusk so filled with the sound of unseen wings and the music of an unknown tongue?
Some drawing things were on the table.
I have always been a fair artist, and sketching has been one of my few amusements.
Almost mechanically I took a pencil, and tried to sketch the face of Eloise Feliciani.
But it was not the face of Eloise Feliciani that appeared on the paper. I gazed on it, when it was finished, in troubled amazement. It was the face of a woman—yet it was also the portrait of a child. Ah, yes; beyond any doubt of memory it was the face of Margaret von Lichtenberg, the old portrait in the gallery of Schloss Lichtenberg! Yet it was the face, also, of little Carl!
CHAPTER XXX THE MARRIAGE OF ELOISE
"We will give them a good send-off," said my guardian, as, some days later, we discussed the matter of Eloise's wedding. "Let them be married at Etiolles; have the village en fête. I will settle for it all."
The proposition seemed good; nowhere could one find a more suitable spot for such a wedding than the little church of Etiolles; yet it met with opposition.