I forget the rest.”
“I remember,” said Gaston, riding by her side.
| “E la morte vien dietro a gran giornate. |
I recall that statue well.”
Whether he really remembered it, or being well learned in poetry, took up the thread from memory, I know not, but it delighted Francezka. She turned to him two lambent eyes. They both laughed with delight; neither one of them seemed to understand the gloom of the words they spoke so lightly. Francezka continued in a voice half laughter and half tears:
“And around the sun-dial are the words:
| Horas non numero nisi serenas— |
I read it—‘Only the sunny hours I mark.’ Oh, what serene and sunny hours shall I have in that garden! There is no spot at Capello I love so well—no spot in the world I love so well. It shall not be touched—it shall remain green and mossy and secluded just as it is now. Much of my life shall be lived in that old garden.”
Her enthusiasm was quite extraordinary. The rich blood was mounting to her cheek, her vivid face became more vivid. It seemed to me as if even her dark hair glowed more deeply.
We entered the great park of the château by an avenue of horse chestnuts. The path was singularly varied 154 and charming. Although it was autumn and the woods were bare and the earth was brown, the beauty of the spot seemed only delicately veiled. I have seen many grander places, although this was grand for a private person; but for sweetness of air, for soft repose, for a calm and penetrating beauty, always I prefer this château of Capello. The Scotch gentleman, Francezka’s father, must have had uncommon skill in choice. We rode up the broad esplanade in front of the château. Smoke was coming from the chimneys, the great doors were wide open, and old Peter, smiling with pleasure, was standing there with a respectable staff of servants he had collected. Francezka sprang from her horse, ran up the marble steps, Gaston Cheverny hotly pursuing, and entered under her own roof, crying, with smiles and tears: