massive ribs, and descending partly down the cold grey walls, reminded
one of the gloomy cloisters of the Middle Ages. And amidst these
characteristic surroundings sat an ugly dwarf on the top of his ladder,
with a red-edged volume upon his bony knees, his head half-buried in a
rough fur cap, small grey eyes, wide misshapen mouth, humps on back and
shoulders, a most uninviting object, the familiar spirit--the rat,
as Sperver would have it--of this last refuge of all the learning
belonging to the princely race of Nideck.

But a truly historical importance belonged to this chamber in the long
series of family portraits, filling almost entirely one side of the
ancient library. All were there, men and women; from Hugh the Wolf to
Yeri-Hans, the present owner; from the first rough daub of barbarous
times to the perfect work of the best modern painters.

My attention was naturally drawn in that direction.

Hugh I., a bald-headed figure, seemed to glare upon you like a wolf
stealing upon you round the corner of a wood. His grey bloodshot eyes,
his red beard, and his large hairy ears gave him a fearful and ferocious
aspect.

Next to him, like the lamb next to the wolf, was the portrait of a lady
of youthful years, with gentle blue eyes, hands crossed on the breast
over a book of devotions, and tresses of fair long silky hair encircling
her sweet countenance with a glorious golden aureola. This picture struck
me by its wonderful resemblance to Odile of Nideck.

I have never seen anything more lovely and more charming than this old
painting on wood, which was stiff enough indeed in its outline, but