and buzzing in my ears drove me dis-old house where I knew my dear mother tracted, reminding me with terrible exactness of the accursed spell which some foul sorcery seemed to have flung around me. It was now long past mid-day. I must have walked many miles during that sultry afternoon, without drift or intention, running forward, then turning back, to find myself at the same spot whence I had started. It was not a fête day, so the woods were peaceful enough, and I met but few people in this wild walk. One or two groups passed me on my way, and I observed that they all seemed scared at my approach, and turned to look after me when I had gone by. I remember that one old gentleman of benevolent aspect spoke to me in gentle tones; but the sound of a human voice brought back all the irritation to my brain, and I fled; and starting forward with a bound, all footsore, exhausted, and weary as I was, turned and ran up the steep acclivity I had just descended, as though the hounds and huntsmen were at my heels. I had tasted nothing since the ill-starred repast with Père Ajax in the early morning; but I felt neither thirst nor hunger, only the peremptory necessity of rest, without the power to seek it, even for an instant. In short, the first symptoms of the brain fever, which was to bring me down to the lowest depths of misery, were already rioting through my whole system. It was not till sundown that I grew more calm; the cool quiet of the evening was soothing in the extreme. I came to myself, as it were, like one awaking from a troubled dream, and began to reconnoitre my whereabouts with something like a return to rational reflection. It was then that, with the greatest delight, I found myself close to the little fountain by the wall of the home park. I hailed the chance as the saving of my life. I drank greedily of the water, and bathed my temples in the hollow basin cut in the stone. The momentary relief seemed like the renovation of existence, and I hastened to the station, which is but a short distance from this spot, with more steadiness and self-command than I could possibly have anticipated, and was whirled into Paris without any cause for further excitement. I even walked home from the terminus, for I dreaded the thumping and bumping of the omnibus, steadily enough, and without attracting observation. How glad was I when the Rue Mazarin first broke upon my sight! And when I again beheld the was waiting to comfort and console me, I fairly burst into tears. This was the climax, and by the action I was so much relieved, that I mounted the stairs with something like a return of that calm and self-possession I had enjoyed but for a short space, indeed, since I had left home in the morning. All my weariness and depression seemed to be dispelled as the same soothing red light from the setting sun, as that which had greeted me on the evening before, shone through the staircase windows; and as I passed each landing-place I pausedin spite of my haste to regain the peace and quiet of our mansarde-to feast my eyes upon the well-remembered line of orange-coloured light which had so comforted me before. As I gradually reached the upper story of the house, I grew more subdued, and when at length I stood beneath the dingy skylight in the roof which lighted our own landing, I fancied I had reached at length the haven for which my soul had been sighing so long. I crept slowly up the few remaining steps leading to our apartment. The door was standing open-a thing so contrary to my mother's reserved and retired habits, that the incident was in itself alone a source of uneasiness and wonder. It actually caused me to quicken my pace; but before I could enter the little anteroom, where our reading-lamp was already burning (another unwonted circumstance in the economy of our daily life), my mother herself appeared upon the threshold. Her countenance was unusually animated, and she spoke in a hurried tone, which betrayed the greatest excitement. "Make haste, my darling!" exclaimed. she, "we have been looking out for you with the greatest impatience. Babette has been twice to the end of the street to see if you were coming." This greeting surprised me beyond measure. It seemed as if everything had changed as well as myself since I had left the house in the morning, and my temper was anything but soothed by this novel mode of salutation. My dear mother's mind was evidently intensely preoccupied, for she did not even observe the complete prostration under which I was labouring. And as I was about to throw myself upon a chair she seized me by the arm. "Nay, dearest, there is no time just now for either talk or rest. You must not even tarry to change your dusty suit. You have been sent for, nay, sent for twice. What do you think?" Here she kissed me fervently on the forehead, but never observed how hot it was. "The story is too long to tell, for time presses," resumed she. "How strange are the ways of Providence! We need never despair; I always knew your talent would be appreciated some day or other, my darling, if once it could be known." And here she kissed me on the cheek and never perceived that it was flushed and heated to excess. But my stupefied and bewildered look must have struck her, nevertheless, for she added with something like a start, and drawing back to gaze more intently into my face: 66 But, dear one, I forgot-you know nothing of what has happened. Well, then, see how Fate has been working for you! Just as Babette and I were beginning to expect you home and to prepare your supper, in rushed the boy from the colour-shop, screeching for you at the top of his voice to go immediately to his master for an order. The old lady who bought your beautiful picture last night had sent to the shop for you, to go that moment to take a likeness of some one who is to leave Paris by daybreak to-morrow morning, and cannot wait. No sooner had the boy disappeared than old Nicol himself made his appearance in a towering rage, abusive as usual, against you for losing your time in the country, against me for having allowed it, and it was only by the assurance of your speedy return that I could induce him to depart. Scarcely had half an hour elapsed before he came once more, this time in a state of frenzy. The lady had sent again, the affair is pressing, that likeness must be taken to-night. What can that young scamp be doing in the woods after sunset? Just like beggars on horseback. But it serves me right. If I hadn't been so very free with my money last night he couldn't have left the studio.' And as, grown furious with his own words, he turned to leave the room, he added: 'Now mind, I will give the young scapegrace another half-hour,' and he pulled out the horrid big turnip watch he always carries, and if he is not with me then, ma foi, I must get another of old Rabâche's boys to execute the job. It's a pity, too; only a sketch to be done in black chalk, can be executed in a few minutes, and so well paid! A duchess into the bargain, with no end of patronage in perspective.' And then my mother hurried me into the kitchen, all perplexed and bewildered 66 as I still was, with eyelids drooping with fatigue and head racked with fever pains. Oh, mother, let me sleep!" exclaimed I, faintly, as I drew back towards the door of my own little bedroom. I had no power to utter more. The dear soul beheld in my repugnance to depart nothing more than a natural timidity, and urged me to hasten all the more; she tightened my cravat and brushed my hair. She sponged my forehead and slipped my Sunday paletot_over my soiled and stained blouse, while I was walking to and fro, literally reeling with sickness, and murmuring now and then as if in slumber. "Oh, mother, do let me lie down and sleep, I dare not go to this place; mother dear, I cannot do what is required, I only want to sleep!" Never shall I cease to wonder at the blindness evinced by my mother on this occasion. Maternal pride and maternal ambition must have been more powerful at that moment than even maternal tenderness, for my dear mother, at other times so anxious, so vigilant over the smallest indisposition, exaggerated even in her anticipations of evil, did not perceive that aught was amiss with me, that my brain was on fire, and that I could scarcely see. The dread of beholding her darling superseded in the luck which Fortune had thrown in his way had entirely absorbed every other feeling, and she literally pushed me out upon the stairs with a few gentle reproaches for my timidity, mended up by many kind words of encouragement, among which I remember still the prophecy that my fortune had begun that night," and those words, so I have since been told, I repeated without ceasing for many days and many weeks afterwards. I have no remembrance whatever of the visit to Nicol's shop, nor of the arrangement concerning the commission to be paid to him out of the job I was about to undertake, but I do remember the oval board and the box of chalks he placed in my hand to be used for the work. The address was in the Rue de Vaugirard, at the Hôtel Méréville. I scarcely know how I reached the place. I tottered rather than walked along the streets. Perhaps the fresh air of the night may have come once more to my relief, for as I lifted the huge knocker at the gate of the Hôtel Méréville, I succeeded in gathering together the scattered thoughts which had been chasing each other, as it were, over the surface of my brain, and by the time the gate was opened and I had advanced to the vestibule, I fancied that my presence of mind was returning. It was evident that I had been waited for. The porter issued from his lodge the moment I appeared. He did not ask my name or inquire my business, but proceeded to light me up the stairs without the utterance of a single word. The vestibule was dark. The large globe lamps on each side of the entrance had not been lighted, but yet the unusual objects gathered at the foot of the stair could not fail to attract my attention. Huge rolls of black cloth and tressels, and strange-looking boxes, were gathered in unsightly heaps, indicative, as I thought, of that hurried departure on which such stress had been laid. The Hôtel Méréville is one of the oldest in the Rue de Vaugirard. Dark and gloomy perhaps, but grand and imposing in its aspect. The staircase up which I was ushered was sonorous and spacious; the tread of my footsteps seemed to bear a double echo, and their grating sound upon the stone irritated me beyond description. The walls were adorned with the pictures of gigantic size in vogue a couple of centuries ago, and the flame of the solitary light borne by my guide danced upon the canvas, making the personages represented thereon appear as if about to float out into space. Half-way up the stairs we were met by an elderly lady attired in deep mourning, with long trailing skirts and flowing veil, beneath whose folds the snow white hair rippled and shone like molten silver. A small and delicate figure it was, yet evidently full of nerve and power, for she snatched the light from the porter's hand, and raised it to my face, as she said in a low, mysterious whisper: "You are Monsieur Malabry," and in answer to my assenting bows, she added, "And I am the Duchesse de Méréville." She paused, and then added in a murmuring tone while her breath seemed to catch between each word: old mansion, I sometimes feel even now as if I had been the sport. "Yes, I must be dreaming," thought I. "This is what folks call a trance. Who was Solange, whose portrait I have taken ? Whose voice was this which spoke to me of Romuld ?" The lady spoke not again-at least not aloud; for although her lips moved, no sound was audible, and with a strange, impatient gesture she motioned to me to follow her. I did not even pause to inquire the meaning of all this, but obeyed with that mechanical obedience one experiences in a vision. The long black skirts of the lady's dress swept noiselessly over the floor as we traversed the apartment. They were of some woollen stuffample and flowing-passing over the marble pavement of the ante-room without the smallest sound. The veil of transparent crape clung around her head and shoulders, leaving the outline of her whole figure shadowy and undefined. She moved with slowness and precision, and the old blood of France was as visible in her haughty tread as in her proud features, where the eyebrows of jetty blackness, contrasting with the bandeaux of snow-white hair, gave an expression of strong, stern will to her whole countenance. We crossed the anteroom, mute and with gliding step. Our lengthened shadows on the wall seemed alone to be in motion. Had not my racking headache still continued, I would have looked around with interest on the old family portraits which adorned the walls. But although in some degree relieved by the darkness, yet I still dwelt upon the idea of rest as the greatest blessing to be obtained. We had passed thus through the dininghall, marble-floored, lofty, and oak-panelled, -through the drawing-room, thickly carpeted and adorned with paintings let into the walls, amid such carving and gold embossing as future generations can never know. We arrived at a door covered with a heavy drapery of dark embroidered velvet, against which the outstretched hand of my conductress looked ghastly white. She was about to draw the drapery aside, when she turned abruptly round, and said to me in a sharp, thin voice: "There is no need for me to enter the chamber. You will see your work at once. Nicol told you, doubtless, the circumstances under which you are called upon to execute the" She hesitated to find the word, and I answered hastily: "Oh yes. I know. The gentleman is to depart to-morrow on a long journey. But why cannot the portrait be delayed until his return ?" fire. At the foot of the bed stood a table covered with a snow-white damask cloth, on which was standing a high silver vase, and upon it lay the long-handled goupillon used for sprinkling the holy water. On one side of the bed was kneeling a chorister boy, with white surplice and huge black cape, who seemed, by his immovable atti tude, to have fallen asleep, with his fore head buried in the heavy drapery of the bed-curtain. On the other side knelt a sister of charity, the long sleeves of her gown of black serge stretched out, and serving to detach the edges of her stiffened coif from the sheet on which her head was reposing, her head bent so low, indeed, that her features were undiscernible. And what was it that lay beneath the coverlet ? The outline of a human form was but too evident. The folds of the sheet seemed to stand up sharp and aggressive, as if to leave no doubt upon the dullest imagination of the presence of the corpse mystery was mystery no more. I had been The lady started, and stared wildly into my face. She uttered a faint cry as of bitter pain; then, by a sudden movement, stepped aside, and her grasp of the curtain was so powerful that it was drawn aside by the movement, and I stood within the space between the two doors, which in these old houses of Paris separate the principal rooms from each other. The strangeness of the sight which burst upon me, and perhaps the sudden glare of light which greeted me, caused me also to reel backwards. I would have turned and fled, but the curtain had fallen behind me, and the lady was no more to be seen. The still and mournful dream, for it appeared so more than ever, amid which I was moving, seemed fast turning to nightmare; I gazed with mingled horror and amazement into the apartment before me. I stood trans-hidden beneath them! I saw it all-the fixed, neither able to recede nor daring to advance. A powerful scent of many odours mixed together made me turn faint and sick -the strong perfume of violets, mingled with the nauseous vapour of heated wax, benumbing every sense, so that I felt as if my very reason were paralysed. The bed, contrary to our modern French custom, stood in the middle of the room. It was one of those large and solemn-looking baldaquin bedsteads, seldom seen except in the state apartments of old country châteaux. The heavy curtains of dark flowered tapestry were drawn aside, and all around the bed stood a row of lighted tapers in high silver sconces. Their flaming light, unsteady from the draught, seemed to rise and fall as it was thrown upon each object in turn, and not altogether bringing forward, as it were, the individual horrors of the scene one by one. Long flowing sheets were hung before the mirrors, and their ghastly whiteness contrasted with the dark hangings of the tapestry on the walls. A large fire was burning on the hearth, although the evening was so hot, and the ruddy flame of the huge logs upon the hearth danced upon the polished floor, and on every bright object in the room, making it now and then seem all aflame. Close by the chimney was seated, in a comfortable arm-chair, a priest, one of the lower order of ecclesiastics belonging to the nearest church, muttering, in a low monotonous tone, his prayers from the book he held at arm's length to catch the light from the I remember placing my hands before my eyes, as the consciousness of my awful mission burst upon me. I remember murmuring in a low tone, as I thought, and with a sigh drawn from the depths of my bosom, "Tis plain, I am destined no more to dwell among the living; my place henceforth is to be ever with the dead." I could not have spoken in so low a murmur as I had imagined, or was it that the silence of the death-chamber was so great that every sound could be heard? for at the sob which burst from me as I spoke the words the priest turned suddenly round, and the little chorister's face, all flushed and swollen, was raised, while a grey-headed domestic advanced with tottering pace from behind the curtains, where he had been concealed, towards me. All seemed startled at my appearance amongst them, all stared at me with amazement, all save the sister of charity, and she remained undisturbed, but went on telling her beads, while her extended arms moved not, and her snowwhite cornette remained rigid and motionless upon the bed. The domestic spoke to me with a sad but courteous greeting. I know he did, for his mild blue eye was fixed upon me and his lips moved, but I heard no sound. He took me by the hand and drew me towards the bed. I re head lay back against the lining of the coucou, the parted lips, and the halfclosed eyelids were just as I had seen them during that fatal drive. I felt that I had of Fate, and struggled no more to free myself. The old servant, careful and officious, held the light close to the visage of the corpse, removing the crucifix which lay upon the breast with the wreath of violets to a greater distance, and asking for approval of the attention. But I could not speak, nor could I even make the sign of approbation he required, for my whole frame seemed turned to stone, and life itself to have centred in my burning brain. I drew the first strokes of the outline; they were true to nature, and I grew more bold, seeking to overcome, by the power of will, the horror and disgust with which my whole being was pervaded. My pencil dashed along valiantly, and although my hands had grown icy cold, and my eyes were beginning to see every object before me as through a veil, the likeness of the dead man gave gradual promise of becoming perfect. sisted and turned to fly, but, as I turned, there stood close behind me the spectral figure of the Duchesse de Méréville, who, with up-raised arm and gesture of command, signed to me with peremptory ex-been clutched in the cold implacable grasp pression to advance. And I did move forward like a beaten hound, and took the seat which had been arranged for me at the bedside. For here, as well as below stairs, everything had been prepared for my arrival. The servant went round to the opposite side of the bed to that where I was seated. I dared not look upon the strange and awful model which had been provided for me, and I turned my gaze to the opposite wall. For a brief instant was the power of concentrating my ideas restored to me. All was deep and solemn mystery in the scene. There hung the picture of the girl with the dark red ribbon in her hair. My poitrinaire in a splendid frame surmounted with a wreath of immortelles, and I saw in an instant what was meant by my portrait of "Solange." The momentary diversion to my thoughts occasioned by the sight evidently must have delayed the catastrophe which had been impending over me ever since my first entrance into the mansion, for, after gazing on it intently, as though I now beheld it for the first time, I could collect myself sufficiently to unfold my drawing implements, and compel my courage to the horrible task required of me. The old servant stood by the pillow whereon lay the head of the corpse, and began slowly to raise the handkerchief which covered the face. His hand trembled so violently that the movement was slowly performed; so slowly, indeed, that the features of the dead man were disclosed one by one. And as the linen cloth was thus withdrawn by degrees, so did I feel my senses once more becoming gradually benumbed, frozen, as it were, beneath the icy chill of that overwhelming awe by which the very beating of my heart was stayed. But strange to say I felt no surprise. As with the opium dreamer, that sentiment could exist no longer, and I started not, nor felt the slightest shock when, the handkerchief being wholly removed, the features of the youth I had beheld full of life in the early morning, dead before noon, were once more displayed in all their ghastly rigidity before me. Yes, there was the face, bearing still the same haughty, supercilious expression as in life, the same lank masses of chestnut hair lying all abroad upon the pillow just as they had floated round his face when his It would seem as if even under the most trying circumstances there must be some peculiar interest attached to the progress of a picture; for after awhile I became conscious that the priest had left his prayers to lean over me; his head weighed heavily on my shoulder, and the odour of snuff and stale garlic, with which his garments were impregnated, was in itself sufficient to create the nausea, which never left me for months, and which even now is connected in my mind with the odour of violets. The little chorister had left his station by the bedside to come and crouch by my chair, leaning his whole weight upon my knees, and causing the drawing to slide forward every now and then from my grasp. The sister of charity alone remained faithful to her post, her head still bent low, and buried in the sheet, the beads of her rosary rattling between her long, thin fingers, and still breaking the hard, stiff outline of the figure on the bed with the outline, harder still, of the starched wings of her cornette. The breath of my two human burdens came hot and strong upon my face, and almost stifled me. I felt that my consciousness was again deserting me, and other images floating before my sight than those actually before me. I drew lines upon the paper here and there, I scarce knew how or where. Who was it whispered, “See, see, what is it he is drawing?" Who was it |