at the harvest festival. Mistrelde was the last to observe it."

"Oh, I see," I returned lamely, though I didn't see at all. The
indifferent way in which he spoke of _centuries_ in connection with
this brilliant and apparently fresh-painted picture rather took me
aback.

Presently he condescended to say something more. Pointing to the marks
or characters which I could not read, he said: "You have seen the name
of Yoletta here, and that and the resemblance misled you. You must know
that there has always been a Yoletta in this house. This was the
daughter of Mistrelde, the Mother, who died young and left but eight
children; and when this work was made their portraits were placed on the
eight faces of the pedestal."

"Thanks for telling me," I said, wondering if it was all true, or only a
fantastic romance.

He then motioned me to follow him, and we quitted that room where it had
been decided that we were not to sup.






Chapter 4

We came to a large portico-like place open on three sides to the air,
the roof being supported by slender columns. We were now on the opposite