silence? According to his idea when we admire anything very much we
ought to go round with long faces and gags on our mouths. That would
be entirely ridiculous! And what was that dreadful thing he said to
you?"

"I don't quite understand you," I answered; "I cannot remember his
saying anything dreadful."

"Oh, I have it now," continued Amy with rapidity; "it was awful! He
said you had the FACE OF ONE WHOM THE SOUL CONSUMES. You know that
was most horribly mystical! And when he said it he looked--ghastly!
What did he mean by it, I wonder?"

I made no answer; but I thought I knew. I changed the conversation
as soon as possible, and my volatile American friend was soon
absorbed in a discussion on dress and jewellery. That night was a
blessed one for me; I was free from all suffering, and slept as
calmly as a child, while in my dreams the face of Cellini's "Angel
of life" smiled at me, and seemed to suggest peace.




CHAPTER II.

THE MYSTERIOUS POTION.


The next day, punctually at noon, according to my promise, I entered
the studio. I was alone, for Amy, after some qualms of conscience