THE marble image of Hubert Van Eyck stood out against the warm blue sky, and cast a slanting shadow across the sunlit flags. The July afternoon was drawing to a close. Low sunlight shone golden on the canals of Villebrumeuse, and changed every westward-looking window into a casement of gold. Those are no common windows which look out upon the quiet streets and lonely squares of that sleepy Belgian city. No handiwork of modern speculative builder is visible amid that grand old architecture--no flimsy nineteenth-century villa perks its tawdry head among those mediæval splendours--no upstart semi-detached abominations of spurious Gothic, picked out with rainbow-coloured brick, affright the eye …
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