hild. Some children laugh and think; others do not laugh till they have
thought; but those whose hearts are called to live by poetry or love,
listen stilly and hear the melody with a look where pleasure
flames already, and the search for the infinite begins. If, from an
irresistible feeling, we love the places where our childhood first
perceived the beauties of harmony, if we remember with delight the
musician, and even the instrument, that taught them to us, how much more
shall we love the being who reveals to us the music of life? The first
heart in which we draw the breath of love,--is it not our home, our
native land? Marguerite and Emmanuel were, each to each, that Voice of
music which wakes a sense, that hand which lifts the misty veil, and
reveals the distant shores bathed in the fires of noonday.

When Madame Claes paused before a picture by Guido representing an
angel, Marguerite bent forward to see the impression it made upon
Emmanuel, and Emmanuel looked at Marguerite to compare the mute thought
on the canvas with the living thought beside him. This involuntary and
delightful homage was understood and treasured. The old abbe gravely
praised the picture, and Madame Claes answered him, but the youth and
the maiden were silent.

Such was their first meeting: the mysterious light of the picture
gallery, the stillness of the old house, the presence of their elders,
all contributed to trace upon their hearts the delicate lines of this
vaporous mirage. The many confused thoughts that surged in Marguerite's
mind grew calm and lay like a limpid ocean traversed by a luminous ray
when Emmanuel murmured a few farewell words to Madame Claes. That voice,
whose fresh and mellow tone sent nameless delights into her heart,
completed the revelation that had come to her,--a revelation which
Emmanuel, were he able, should cherish to his own profit; for it often
happens that the man whom destiny employs to waken love in the heart
of a young girl is ignorant of his work and leaves it unfinished.
Marguerite bowed confusedly; her true farewell was in the glance which
seemed unwilling to lose so pure and lovely a vision. Like a child
she wanted her melody. Their parting took place at the foot of the old
staircase near the parlor; and when Marguerite re-entered the room she
watched the uncle and the nephew till the street-door closed upon them.

Madame Claes had been so occupied with the serious matters which caused
her conference w