They went on down into the garden, by a noble flight of broad stone
steps, no longer tottering and moss-grown, and turned first to seek the
wild eglantine which had offered its delicate little rose to the young
actress, on the memorable morning when the baron had decided to go forth
from his ruined castle for love of her. It had another dainty blossom
ready for her now, which Isabelle received from de Sigognac's hand, with
tears, that told of a happiness too deep for words, welling up into her
eyes, and exchanged with her adored and adoring husband a long, fond
look, that seemed to give to each a glimpse of heaven.
The gardeners had been busy too, and had converted the neglected
wilderness we made acquaintance with long ago into a veritable little
paradise. At the end of the well-ordered and exquisitely arranged garden,
Pomona still stood in her cool grotto, restored to all the beauty of her
youth, while a stream of pure, sparkling water poured from the lion's
mouth, and fell with a musical murmur into the marble basin. Even in
their best and most glorious days the garden and the chateau had never
known greater beauty and luxury than now. The baron, ever more and more
astonished and enchanted, as he rambled slowly through it all, like one
in a delicious dream, kept Isabelle's arm pressed tenderly to his heart,
and was not ashamed to let her see the tears that at last he could no
longer restrain, and which came from a very full heart.
Pages:
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655