"For years I have wished to
enter it; and now I am here with you--yes, I am here."
It did not occur to her to ask him where he was leading her, but she
gave herself up to his guidance, under the darkness of these centenarian
trees. The ground was soft under their feet; the archway of leaves above
them was high, like the vaulted ceiling of a church. There was neither
sound nor breath, only the beating of their own hearts.
At length he pushed open the door of a little pavilion, and said to her:
"Go in; this is my home."
It was there that his father had seen fit to install him all by himself,
in this distant corner of the park. On the first floor there was a hall,
and one very large room, which was now lighted by a great lamp. Above
was a complete little apartment.
"You can see for yourself," he continued smilingly, "that you are at the
house of an artisan. This is my shop."
It was a working-room indeed; the caprice of a wealthy young man,
who amused himself in his leisure hours by painting on glass. He had
re-found the ancient methods of the thirteenth century, so that he could
fancy himself as being one of the primitive glass-workers, producing
masterpieces with the poor, unfinished means of the older time.
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