The garden of this castle was worth seeing. A part of it was quite old-fashioned, with stiff green hedges, where one seemed to be walking between green screens pierced with peepholes. Box trees and yew trees were clipped into stars and pyramids; water sprang from fountains set with cockleshells; on all sides stood figures made of the heaviest stone, as one could plainly tell from both the clothes and the faces; each flower bed had its own device - a fish, a heraldic shield, or a monogram. This was the French part of the garden. From this section one seemed to emerge into the free, natural woods, where the trees could grow as they wished, and therefore, grew great and splendid. The grass was green and could be walked on; it was mowed, rolled, and well cared for. This was the English half of the garden.
"Old times and modern times," said the Count. "They meet here with loving embraces! In a couple of years the house itself will take on its proper importance. It will be a complete change into something handsomer and better. I'll show you the plans, and I'll even show you the architect; he is coming to dinner."
"Charmant!" said the General.
"This garden is paradise!" said the General's wife. "And over there you have a baronial castle!"
"Oh, that's my henhouse," replied the Count. "The pigeons live in the tower, and the turkeys on the first floor, but old Else reigns in the parlor. She has guest rooms all around her, one for the sitting hens, one for the hens and chickens, while the ducks have their own outlet to the water."
"Charmant!" repeated the General, and they all went to see this fine place.
Old Else stood in the middle of the parlor, and beside her stood the architect - George! After so many years, he and Little Emilie met again - in the henhouse! Yes, there he stood, and he was a handsome figure to look at, his face frank and firm, his hair black and shiny, and in the corners of his mouth a little smile that said, "There's a little imp behind my ear who knows all about you, outside and inside!" Old Else had taken off her wooden shoes and stood in her stocking feet, out of respect for her illustrious visitors. And the hens clucked, and the cock crowed, while the ducks waddled along, tap, tap, tap.
But the pale, slender girl, his childhood friend, the General's daughter, stood before George with her otherwise pallid cheeks now blushing like the rose, her eyes wide, and her lips speaking without uttering a syllable. Such was his greeting - the sweetest that any young man could hope for from a young lady, unless they were of the same family or had often danced together; she and the architect had never danced together.
The Count took his hand and presented him, saying, "He's not a perfect stranger, our young friend, Mr. George."
The General's wife curtsied; her daughter was about to offer her hand, but drew it back.
"Our little Mr. George!" said the General. "We're old housefriends; charmant!"
"You have become quite and Italian," said his wife, and I presume you speak the language now like a native."
The General's wife could sing in Italian but not speak it, said the General.
At the dinner table George sat at Emilie's right side. The General had escorted her, while the Count had escorted the General's wife. George talked, and told anecdotes, which he could tell well. He was the life of the party, though the old Count could have been, too, had he wanted to be.
Emilie sat silently; her ears listened, her eyes sparkled - but she said nothing.
Then she and George stood among the flowers, behind a screen of roses on the veranda, and again it was left to him to begin speaking.
"Thank you for your kindness to my old mother," he said. "I know that on the night of my father's death you went down and stayed with her till his eyes had closed. Thank you!" Then he raised her hand and kissed it, as was proper on such an occasion. She blushed, becoming rosy red, but pressed his hand in return and gazed at him with tender blue eyes.
"Your mother was a loving soul, and she was so fond of you. She let me read all your letters, so I almost feel I know you. And I remember how kind you were to me when I was little. You gave me pictures - -"
"Which you tore to pieces," said George.
"No, I still have my own castle left - I mean the drawing of it."