"They are hunting in the forest," said my father; and, at the words, I could see in the gloom of the tree-caverns the phantom of the flying game pursued by the phantom of the ghostly huntsman, bugle to lips and cheeks puffed out, a picture in the fantastic tapestry that children weave from the colours and the sounds of life. Then we drove on. It was long past four, and I was drowsy with the fresh air, half drugged with the odour of the pine trees, when we reached the gates of the park surrounding the schloss. They were opened for us by a jäger, an old man in a green uniform, who saluted as we passed. Joubert whipping up the horses, we passed along the great avenue of elm trees. The park, under the late afternoon sun, lay swathed in light, beautiful and so spacious that the far-off deer browsing in the sunshine seemed the denizens of their natural home. I was not drowsy now, I was sitting erect by my father, my heart was filled with the wildest exaltation--mystery and enchantment surrounded me. I could have cried aloud with the wonder of it all; for I had been here before. CHAPTER IV ELOISE "You have been here before?" Who does not know that mysterious greeting with which, when we turn the corner of some road, the prospect meets us? Only a few years ago Charcot assured me that this strange sensation of the mind is a result of inequality in the rhythm of thought, a mechanical accident affecting one side of the brain. I accepted his explanation with a smile. Seated now by my father as we dashed along the broad avenue, my heart was on fire. I knew that at the turning just before us, the turning where the avenue bent upon itself, the house would burst upon us in full view. Unable to contain myself, scarce knowing what I did, I jumped on the front seat, and, standing, holding on to Joubert's coat, I waited. The carriage turned the corner of the drive, the house broke into view, and my dream vanished. It was like being recalled to consciousness from some happy vision by a blow in the face. I could not in the least tell what sort of house it was that I expected to see, but I could tell that the house before me was not--it. Vast and grey and formal, the Schloss Lichtenberg stood back-grounded by waving pine-trees; above it, coiling to the wind, the flag of Prussia, proclaiming that the king was a guest, floated in the evening sunshine. Before the huge porch, trampling the gravel, the horses of a hunting party were reined in; the hunters were dismounting. They had been hawking; and on the gloved wrists of the green-coated jägers the hooded falcons shook their little bells. "The King is here!" said my father, when he saw the flag. The horses of the hunters were being led away, and most of the party had disappeared into the house when we drew up before the door.