"Your furniture does not lack variety, at all events," he said; "for an antiquary the rubbish would not be without interest. Really, it is like a chapter out of one of Scott's novels. There, in that high-backed chair, Dr. Dryasdust might have sat; you must set that here, if the old fellow does not tumble over as soon as you take him from the wall. So! a little nearer to the window. Isn't that a splendid piece! It comes down from my great-grandfather's time. He was ambassador at the court of Augustus the Strong, and the only one of our family, so far as I know, who as head of the house ever entered public service. He brought from Dresden the handsome vases of which you see a potsherd there, and a decided taste for Moorish servants, parrots, and ladies. But _de mortuis_--Really the old chair is still right comfortable. And what a magnificent view of the park, just from this place! I shall often come to see you, for it is really charming." In fact he did come once or twice in the next few days, while a heavy rain kept us all in the house, to smoke his cigar and have a chat; but when the weather cleared up, he thought no more about it, and I was careful enough, on my part, not to recall my museum to his recollection. For I had only arranged it in order to be nearer to Constance, and to have a view of the park, about whose neglected walks she loved to wander. I could also see a strip of the terrace that lay under her windows, but unfortunately only the outer margin, as the part of the castle in which she lived fell back from the main-building about the breadth of the terrace. But still it was something: the faint light which in the evening fell upon the balustrade came from her room, and once or twice I caught an indistinct glimpse of her form, as she paced up and down the terrace, or leaning upon the balustrade gazed into the park, over which night had already spread her dusky veil. And when I did not see her, I heard her music and her songs, among which there was none I loved better than that which I had heard the first evening, and now knew by heart: "All day long the bright sun loves me, Woos me with his glowing light; But I better love the gentle Stars of night." In truth I also loved them well, the stars of night, for often and often when the pale light had vanished from the balustrade, and the song I so loved had long ceased, I still sat at my open window gazing at the stars, which shone in all the splendor of a September night, and listening to the solemn music of the wind in the ancient trees of the park.