Under that roof they renewed a happy moment of Weimar, which after the lapse of a week seemed already so remote.

They wondered, as they mounted the stairs from the basement opening into a clean little court, how Burnamy was getting on, and whether it had yet come to that understanding between him and Agatha, which Mrs.March, at least, had meant to be inevitable.

Then they became part of some such sight-seeing retinue as followed the custodian about in the Goethe horse in Weimar, and of an emotion indistinguishable from that of their fellow sight-seers.

They could make sure, afterwards, of a personal pleasure in a certain prescient classicism of the house.
It somehow recalled both the Goethe houses at Weimar, and it somehow recalled Italy.

It is a separate house of two floors above the entrance, which opens to a little court or yard, and gives access by a decent stairway to the living-rooms.