"Since your house is not so large as your heart, chere Mathilde."
Little Jet was engaged in removing the firescreen, preparatory to lighting the fire to air the room. As she set this board down before my eyes, I could scarcely repress the cry that arose to my lips. It was an old, faded family portrait that had been put to this use. That was not much; but—it was the portrait of the dark woman of my dream.
The same midnight eyes and hair, the same proud, stern, sad brow!
"Whose likeness is that, Mathilde?" I asked, when I had in some degree recovered my composure.
"Oh! I don't know; it is a portrait of some member of the family of the former proprietors, I suppose! We found it here with other rubbish, considered, I suppose, of too little value to remove after the Van Der Vaughans left; I washed its face and set it up for a firescreen. 'To such vile uses,' etc. By the way, look at it! It is a very remarkable countenance! Such expression might have been that of Semiramis when ordering the execution of Ninus."
"No! I do not think so, there is no wickedness in this face! There is strength, sternness, perhaps cruelty (if necessary)," I replied, still studying the portrait. "Who could it have been?"
"I know not indeed! some old, old member of the Vaughan family."
"Nay, I do not think the portrait is of such ancient date! To be sure it is dilapidated; but that seems to be more from abuse than from time. And observe! the costume is modern."
"So it is!"
"I had not thought of that before! Well now since you said so, I begin to surmise that this may be the portrait of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan."