And yet there was much in Brussels to strike a responsive chord in her powerful imagination.  At length she was seeing somewhat of that grand old world of which she had dreamed.  As the gay crowds passed by her, so had gay crowds paced those streets for centuries, in all their varying costumes.  Every spot told an historic tale, extending back into the fabulous ages when Jan and Jannika, the aboriginal giant and giantess, looked over the wall, forty feet high, of what is now the Rue Villa Hermosa, and peered down upon the new settlers who were to turn them out of the country in which they had lived since the deluge.  The great solemn Cathedral of St. Gudule, the religious paintings, the striking forms and ceremonies of the Romish Church—­all made a deep impression on the girls, fresh from the bare walls and simple worship of Haworth Church.  And then they were indignant with themselves for having been susceptible of this impression, and their stout Protestant hearts arrayed themselves against the false Duessa that had thus imposed upon them.

The very building they occupied as pupils, in Madame Heger’s pensionnat, had its own ghostly train of splendid associations, marching for ever, in shadowy procession, through and through the ancient rooms, and shaded alleys of the gardens.  From the splendour of to-day in the Rue Royale, if you turn aside, near the statue of the General Beliard, you look down four flights of broad stone steps upon the Rue d’Isabelle.  The chimneys of the houses in it are below your feet.  Opposite to the lowest flight of steps, there is a large old mansion facing you, with a spacious walled garden behind—­and to the right of it.  In front of this garden, on the same side as the mansion, and with great boughs of trees sweeping over their lowly roofs, is a row of small, picturesque, old-fashioned cottages, not unlike, in degree and uniformity, to the almshouses so often seen in an English country town.  The Rue d’Isabelle looks as though it had been untouched by the innovations of the builder for the last three centuries; and yet any one might drop a stone into it from the back windows of the grand modern hotels in the Rue Royale, built and furnished in the newest Parisian fashion.

In the thirteenth century, the Rue d’Isabelle was called the Fosse-aux-Chiens; and the kennels for the ducal hounds occupied the place where Madame Heger’s pensionnat now stands.  A hospital (in the ancient large meaning of the word) succeeded to the kennel.  The houseless and the poor, perhaps the leprous, were received, by the brethren of a religious order, in a building on this sheltered site; and what had been a fosse for defence, was filled up with herb-gardens and orchards for upwards of a hundred years.  Then came the aristocratic guild of the cross-bow men—­that company the members whereof were required to prove their noble descent—­untainted for so many generations, before they could be admitted into the guild; and, being admitted, were required