Sleep, however, I could not, though my body was weary and my couch soft. My mind had been strongly and strangely excited, as well by my host's impassioned recital of Macbeth, as by the crape-clad picture, and I could not help fancying that there was some mysterious connection between it and the play. Thus I lay watching the flickering light emitted by the embers of my wood-fire, which was now fast dying away on the hearth, until the pendule on the chimney-piece announced in silver tones that it was three o'clock.
"I can endure this no longer," exclaimed I, "see that picture I must and will. Every soul in the house is now buried in sleep; why should I not steal down to the library and gratify my indomitable curiosity? If it be a breach of hospitality, it is surely a venial one? What can the old gentleman expect, if he will thus tantalize his guests?"
Whilst I thus reasoned with myself, I was busily employed in wrapping my robe de chambre about my person and in lighting my candle, and in one minute, I stood before the object of my waking dreams, and in another the light was raised to its proper level and the crape thrown back; when, instead of some scene of blood, which my heated imagination had conjured up, there stood revealed before my wondering eyes the portrait of one of the loveliest women I ever beheld. The head, set gracefully on exquisitely turned shoulders, exhibited a countenance in which sweetness and intelligence were intimately blended. The features, though not what is termed regular, were most harmonious, and gave me a clearer idea of Lord Byron's "the mind, the music breathing from her face," than I had ever had before. Her dark chestnut hair, parted Madonnawise on her pale and thoughtful brow, fell in rich clusters down an ivory neck, and finally rested on a bosom "firm as a maiden's, as a matron's full." But it was the eyes that chiefly riveted my gaze. Deep and clear as one of Ruysdael's lakes, they seemed to reflect in their limpid mirror every surrounding object. At the first glance their expression was that of softness; but on fixing mine upon them as I did, in all the intensity of admiration, they seemed gradually to assume so stern an aspect, as if reproving my impertinent curiosity, that I fairly quailed beneath their glance. Whilst I thus stood, rooted as it were to the spot, and lost in mingled feelings of admiration and wonder, not unmixed with a certain sensation of awe, a hand laid gently on my shoulder caused me to start round, and I beheld my friend standing beside me. I was about to mutter some apology, but he stopped me, saying, "It was my fault, I do not blame you. I ought to have known that that veiled picture would excite your curiosity, and I ought not to have brought you here unless I was prepared to gratify it. But return to bed, and to-morrow you shall know my history and that of the picture now before you. I never yet imparted it to mortal ear, but as it will interest, and may possibly be useful to you in afterlife, you shall have it, as some return for the services you have rendered me. Good night." So saying he waived his hand in a friendly but somewhat authoritative manner, and I betook myself to my apartment, a good deal abashed and ashamed of my adventure.
It was late the next morning when Antoine, presenting himself at my bedside, broke my slumbers, and with them the current of a dream of which the picture and the occurrences of the past night formed the basis. He informed me he had just dressed his master, and tendered me the like service, which, however, I declined, and proceeded, unaided and alone, to dress with all expedition. My friend received me in the salon, where we had dined the preceding day, with his usual benignant smile; but it was easy to perceive that his night had not been passed in sleep. He looked languid and out of spirits, and our breakfast was a somewhat silent one. When it was over, he sat awhile lost in deep thought, but at length, as if by sudden effort, he arose and took me by the arm, saying, "Allons, M.D., let us adjourn to the library, where I will unburden my mind, and perform the promise of last night."
The picture was still uncovered, and we were no sooner seated than, as if fearing his resolution might give way, he immediately began thus:
In the year 1770 I had, as I have already informed you, the honor of belonging to that distinguished body the Gardes du Corps, and though my duty required my almost constant presence at Versailles, I, nevertheless, had a lodging in this house, which is now mine. I had at that time but little prospect of ever possessing a house of my own, and could not always pay my rent for the room I then occupied therein. My family, of which I was the youngest, was rich, but I was poor, and have often gone without a dinner, because I had not wherewithal to pay for one. I fell into debt, which my brother promised, some day or other, to pay; or I might, perhaps, get a rich wife, for we men of fashion, whilst youth and good looks lasted, thought ourselves fairly entitled to use the folly of wealthy old dowagers as an instrument placed in our hands by Providence to enable us to revenge ourselves on Fortune for her cruelty in making us younger sons. "Remember," my father used to say to me, "that there is nothing on which our good or ill-fate in life so much depends as on women; we are in their hands; they manage us as they please; and it is the gentlest and the meekest who rule us the most effectually." I, however, led a gay and thoughtless life, and never troubled myself to inquire what influence, good or evil, women might have on my future life. I had three occupations which took up all my time—the ordinary routine of duty at Versailles; to pay assiduous court to the Prince de Beauveau, who honored me with his patronage, and for which reason I chose my lodgings as near as I could to his hotel; and last, though not least, there was Mademoiselle Zephirine, première dansuese at the Theatre Audinet. You smile, Mr. D., but recollect that I am now speaking of more than forty years ago. Ah! it was then no slight affair to keep a mistress, I assure you; for, though not allowed to hear one's name, she was to be openly acknowledged and as openly fought for when there was occasion. I had, for instance, to call out an officer in the Swiss Guards, for presuming to say that Zephirine had failed in one of her favorite and most admired pas. The Princess de Beauveau knew of the connection, and did not disapprove; so I practiced all the fashionable dances of the day, that I might qualify myself to appear as the partner of Zephirine at the public balls in Paris and at the fêtes champêtres at Versailles, where we danced on the verdant carpet of the mossy turf. Zephirine had all the accomplishments and tastes that take the fancy of a sprig of fashion of that period; she fenced and rode beautifully; loved champagne suppers, and doted on all the costly fineries of Madame Bertia's splendid show-room. In short, I ruined myself with so little thought and so much pleasure that I believed myself to be in love, and was quite sure that Mademoiselle was as warmly attached to me; when, one evening, she came into my room here,—this very room, my dear Mr. D., where we are now sitting, still attired in her theatrical costume, and with the stage paint not yet rubbed off her pretty face.
"Chevalier," said she, "take care of yourself, your creditors are about to pounce upon you—yes, to arrest you. I learnt the fact not five minutes ago from an attorney's clerk, who makes love to my maid, and I came in to—"
"How can I sufficiently thank you, dearest," said I; "and so for me you brave even a prison, and—"
"Why, not exactly," replied she. "You see, Chevalier, you have no longer either cash or credit, and I should be a burden to you."
"Well?"