magnificent beds sculptured in the reign of Francis I., to which
were suspended hangings of white damask, embroidered in gold.

At the sight of this woman, the people of the wall and ceiling
ceased to occupy his attention; she was all to him, and he looked
to see if she had left a vacancy in the frame. But suddenly she
disappeared; and an opaque body interposed itself between her
and Bussy, moving slowly, and stretching its arms out as though
it were playing blindman's buff. Bussy felt in such a passion at
this, that, had he been able, he would certainly have attacked
this importunate vision; but as he made a vain effort, the newcomer
spoke:

"Well," said he, "have I arrived at last?"

"Yes, monsieur," said a voice so sweet that it thrilled through
Bussy, "and now you may take off your bandage." Bussy made an
effort to see if the sweet voice belonged to the lady of the
portrait, but it was useless. He only saw the pleasant face of a
young man, who had just, as he was told, taken off his bandage,
and was looking curiously about him.

"To the devil with this man," thought Bussy, and he tried to speak,
but fruitlessly.

"Ah, I understand now," said the young man, approaching the bed;
"you are wounded, are you not, my dear sir? Well, we will try
to cure you."

"Is the wound mortal?" asked the sweet voice again, with a sad