The Colonel informed him of Gilpin's death; and he seemed rather interested, as the compositions of the organist, which Kate had played the night before, had pleased him greatly. Then they talked of great musicians, and Mozart's Requiem, and the strange circumstances under which it is said to have been composed. "How much I love those wild, mysterious German stories, they have an indescribable charm for me," said Kate. "Why?" asked Langley, in his blunt manner. "That is exactly what I cannot answer." "I never like what I do not understand." "How is it you are a painter then?" asked Kate, in her turn. "I do not see what that has to do with the subject on which we were speaking," he returned, startled at this attack. "How is it that you can give expression to a face with your pencil, which you could not convey in words? Even a landscape may speak the painter's soul, far more than the most eloquent description; so it is that glimpses of what is far beyond our nature to comprehend, faint though they be, give us an idea of space and might far more than any even perfectly comprehended explanation, as mist-wreaths hide but magnify the depths seen from a mountain." "A very poetical definition, Miss Vernon." "I speak but my thoughts," said Kate, steadily, though she blushed, and felt uneasy; as enthusiasts always do, when the quick current of their imagination is checked by some son of earth, who dignifies his dulness by the name of strong common sense. "Well, Miss Vernon, I must think of what you say about painting." "Ah, you must have enthusiasm and imagination to be a painter, though you are too English not to be ashamed of your better self." "That is what Galliard says." "Who is this Monsieur Galliard?" asked the Colonel. "Oh, a very curious medley--his father was French, his mother English--and his life has been divided between France, Italy, and England--he is half a musician, half a painter, but wholly a writer for newspapers and reviews, foreign and domestic; he is well thought of, however, notwithstanding some vulnerable points--knows lots of people, and is a very likely person to push you on well, Miss Vernon." The Colonel winced at this conclusion. "You are very kind," said Kate; "I quite begin to think you a real friend, now I am more accustomed to you." Langley stared, astonished! Old enough to be Miss Vernon's father, it was extraordinary the influence this fair, bright, noble creature, whose every word and thought were so at variance with the maxims of his work-a-day world, was gaining over him. Meanwhile, they had reached the Vernon's lodgings before he had recovered the fit of musing into which Kate's words had thrown him. "I am glad you think me your friend," he said, at length, interrupting an exposition of the state of the _Ancienne Regime_, as it existed when he was in France, into which the Colonel had diverged, apropos to Galliard.