For years afterwards my sensibilities were
exercised over the question as to where the count was put while we
enjoyed the space and loveliness of Montauto; I did not know that he
had a palace in town. His sad, sweetly resentful glance had conveyed
to me the idea, "Must I still live, if I live beneath my rank, and as
a leaser of villas?"
One day, happy day, we toiled by carriage, between light-colored
walls, sometimes too high for any view,--that once caused my mother a
three hours' walk, because of a misturn,--over little hot, dusty
roads, out and up to the villa. My father and brother had already
walked thither; and my brother's spirits, as he stood beside the high
iron gateway, in front of the gray tower which was the theme, or chief
outline, of the old country-seat, were pleasant to witness, and
illustrated my own pent-up feelings. He shouted and danced before the
iron bars of the gate like a humanized note of music, uncertain where
it belonged, and glad of it. Our very first knowledge of Montauto was
rich and varied, with the relief from pretentiousness which all
ancient things enjoy, and with the appealing sweetness of time-worn
shabbiness. The walls of the hall and staircase were of gray stone, as
were the steps which led echoingly up to the second story of the
house. My sister exclaims in delight concerning the whole scene: "This
villa,--you have no idea how delightful it is! I think there must be
pretty nearly a hundred rooms in it, of all shapes, sizes, and
heights.
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