the east and the west, so
neither at morning nor at evening did the waters shine and glow, but
always lay somber and with a melancholy loveliness, in the midst of
that joyful landscape. As I looked at this distant still lake and
garden, a poignant feeling came upon me that I had seen them before,
and that they held for me a story--oh me! oh me! It was as if my soul
had visited them in dreams--those dreams when I told Francezka of my
love and she listened to me--yes, listened to me. I had to force
myself to turn my eyes from that enchanted garden and lake of pensive
beauty.

We were riding forward rapidly, and when we came within close view of
this garden, Francezka clapped her hands wildly.

"There, there, just as I have seen it in my dreams!" she cried. "I
never dreamed of Capello in my life that I did not dream of the lake
and the Italian garden--and I have not seen them since I was six years
old! That statue is Petrarch's--and on the base is an inscription from
the sonnet,

La vita fugge, e non s'aretta un ora,--

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 chateau by an avenue of horse
chestnuts. The path was singularly varied 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 thi