corner, its brightness toned down by a globe of ground crystal; thick
carpets, soft as the turf on the hills, made our steps noiseless. It
seemed a fit abode for silence and meditation.

On entering Sperver lifted the heavy draperies which fell around an ogee
window. I observed him straining his eyes to discover something in the
darkened distance; he was trying to make out whether the witch still lay
there crouching down upon the snow in the midst of the plain; but he
could see nothing, for there was deep darkness over all.

But I had gone on a few steps, and came in sight, by the faint rays of
the lamp, of a pale, delicate figure seated in a Gothic chair not far
from the sick man. It was Odile of Nideck. Her long black silk dress, her
gentle expression of calm self-devotion and complete resignation, the
ideal angel-like cast of her sweet features, recalled to one's mind those
mysterious creations of the pencil in the Middle Ages when painting was
pursued as a true art, but which modern imitators have found themselves
obliged to give up in despair, while at the same time they never can
forget them.

I cannot say what thoughts passed rapidly through my mind at the sight
of this fair creature, but certainly much of devotion mingled with my
sentiments. A sense of music and harmony swept sadly through by soul,
with faint impressions of the old ballads of my childhood--of those pious
songs with which the kind nurses of the Black Forest rock to peaceful
sleep our infant sorrows.

At my approach Odile rose.

"You are very welcome, monsieur le docteur," she said with touching