If I ever do become Madame Lenoble--and even
yet I _cannot_ picture to myself that such a thing will be--you must come
to Cotenoir, you and Valentine. I was taken through every room in the old
chateau the day before yesterday, and I fixed in my own mind upon the
rooms I will give you, if these things come to pass. They are very old
rooms, and I can fancy what strange people must have lived in them, and
died in them perhaps, in the days that are gone. But if you come to them,
they shall be made bright and pretty, and we will chase the shadows of
the mediaeval age away. There are old pictures, old musical instruments,
quaint spindle-legged chairs and tables, tapestries that crumble as you
touch them--the ashes and relics of many generations. Gustave says we
will sweep these poor vestiges away, and begin a new life, when I come to
Cotenoir; but I cannot find it in my heart to obliterate every trace of
those dead feet that have come and gone in all the dusky passages of my
future home.
And now I must tell you about my daughters that are to be--my daughter
that is, I may say of the elder--for I love her so well already that no
breach between Gustave and me could rob her of my affection. She is the
dearest, most loving of creatures; and she reminds me of you! I dare say
you will laugh at this, dear; and, mind, I do not say that Clarice
Lenoble is actually like you in complexion or feature--those common
attributes which every eye can see; the resemblance is far more subtle.
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