Six o'clock
Without one word of apology , Gaston Cheverny dashed away from the dinner table , wrote a letter of acceptance , and came back looking exactly as a man does when he has won the first prize in the lottery , or has just received a field marshal 's baton . In an instant of time , and by a stroke of Francezka 's pen , all of his grievances , his resolves , his fierce resentment , melted away like the mists of the morning . Nobody could complain that Gaston Cheverny was coldly reasonable in his love . Six o'clock was the hour named in Francezka 's letter , but Gaston 's impatience was so great that we set out a little after five , and spent the time loitering in the great park . If I had thought the château of Capello lovely in the autumn days , more than two years before , when the woods were russet , the earth brown , how much lovelier did it appear in this rare summer afternoon when it was one vast garden of beauty ! The green , softly rolling hills , the rich park , the purple woods , the château rising from its emerald terraces , its marble balustrades gleaming white , the fountains plashing diamonds , the lake blue and still and melancholy , the Italian garden like a poet 's dream -- my senses ached with so much beauty -- but I forgot it all , when , in the sunset glow , I saw Francezka Capello . The bell in the little village church was clanging musically , as Gaston Cheverny and I mounted the terrace steps .