me clasped in my hand. Irresolutely I raised my eyes towards the
"Lords of our Life and Death." It was closely veiled. I had then
experienced an optical illusion. I forced myself to speak--to smile
--to put back the novel sensations that were overwhelming me.

"I think," I said, and I heard myself speak as though I were
somebody else at a great distance off--"I think, Signor Cellini,
your Eastern wine has been too potent for me. My head is quite
heavy, and I feel dazed."

"It is mere fatigue and the heat of the day," he replied quietly. "I
am sure you are not too DAZED, as you call it, to see your favourite
picture, are you?"

I trembled. Was not that picture veiled? I looked--there was no
curtain at all, and the faces of the two Angels shone out of the
canvas with intense brilliancy! Strange to say, I felt no surprise
at this circumstance, which, had it occurred a moment previously,
would have unquestionably astonished and perhaps alarmed me. The
mistiness of my brain suddenly cleared; I saw everything plainly; I
heard distinctly; and when I spoke, the tone of my voice sounded as
full and ringing as it had previously seemed low and muffled. I
gazed steadfastly at the painting, and replied, half smiling:

"I should be indeed 'far gone,' as the saying is, if I could not see
that, signor! It is truly your masterpiece. Why have you never
exhibited it?"

"Can YOU ask that?" he said with impressive emphasis, at the same
time drawing nearer and fixing upon me the penetrating glance of his