With a beating heart Ellen knocked at the door, which was almost immediately opened by Filippo.
"Ah! Miss Monroe!" he exclaimed, as the light of the hall-lamp fell upon her beautiful countenance.
"Yes—it is I at Mr. Greenwood's house," she answered, with a smile: "is he at home?"
"No, Miss—he has gone into the City; but he will be back at six o'clock at the latest."
"Then I will wait for him," said Ellen.
Filippo conducted her up stairs.
In the window of the staircase still stood the beautiful model of the Diana, holding a lamp in its hand,—that model which was the image of her own faultless form.
On the landing-place, communicating with the drawing-room, was also the marble statue, the bust of which was sculptured in precise imitation of her own.
And, when she entered the drawing-room, the first object which met her eyes was the picture of Venus rising from the ocean, surrounded by nereids and nymphs,—that Venus which was a faithful likeness of herself!
Oh! how many phases of her existence did these permanent representations of her matchless beauty bring back to her memory!