some costumed. The room was brilliantly lighted and beautifully
furnished and decorated. At one end was a grand piano, round which
several persons were grouped; others were seated on ottomans taking
tea or coffee; and others strolled about, talking. Our host, who
appeared to be master of the ceremonies, introduced us to several
persons, and we soon became deeply interested in a conversation
on literary subjects. So the evening wore on pleasantly, but I
never ceased to wonder how we could have mistaken the house or the
staircase after the precaution we had taken of visiting it in the
daytime in order to avoid the possibility of error.

Presently, being tired of conversation, I wandered away from the
group with which C. was still engaged, to look at the beautiful
decorations of the great salon, the walls of which were covered
with artistic designs in fresco. Between each couple of panels,
the whole length of the salon, was a beautiful painting, representing
a landscape or a sea-piece. I passed from one to the other, admiring
each, till I had reached the extreme end, and was far away from
the rest of the company, where the lights were not so many or so
bright as in the centre. The last fresco in the series then caught
my attention. At first it appeared to me to be unfinished; and
then I observed that there was upon its background no picture at all,
but only a background of merging tints which seemed to change, and
to be now sky, now sea, now green grass. This empty picture had,
moreover, an odd metallic coloring which fascinated me; and saying
to myself "Is there really any painting on it?" I mechanically
put out my hand and touched it. On this I was instantly seized
by a frightful sensation, a shock that ran from the tips of my
fingers to my brain, and steeped my whole being. Simultaneously
I was aware of an overwhelming sense of sucking and dragging, which,