had been--did she not personify all man's
useless efforts to force the doors of truth, and all the frightful
abandonment into which he falls as soon as he collides with the wall
which shuts the unknown off from him? For a long while did Pierre look at
her, again worried at being obliged to depart without having seen her
face behind her streaming golden hair, that face of dolorous beauty which
he pictured radiant with youth and delicious in its mystery. And as he
gazed he was just fancying that he could see it, that it was becoming his
at last, when there was a knock at the door and Narcisse Habert entered.

Pierre was surprised to see the young _attache_, for three days
previously he had started for Florence, impelled thither by one of the
sudden whims of his artistic fancy. However, he at once apologised for
his unceremonious intrusion. "Ah! there is your luggage!" he said; "I
heard that you were going away this evening, and I was unwilling to let
you leave Rome without coming to shake hands with you. But what frightful
things have happened since we met! I only returned this afternoon, so
that I could not attend the funeral. However, you may well imagine how
thunderstruck I was by the news of those frightful deaths."

Then, suspecting some unacknowledged tragedy, like a man well acquainted
with the legendary dark side of Rome, he put some questions to Pierre but
did not insist on them, being at bottom far too prudent to burden himself
uselessly with redoubtable secrets. And after Pierre had given him such
particulars as he thought fit, the conversation changed and they spoke at
length of Italy, Rome, Naples, and Florence. "Ah! Florence, Florence!"
Narcisse repeated languorously. He had lighted a cigarette and his words
fell more slowly, as he glanced round the room. "You were very well
lodged here," he said, "it is very quiet. I had never come up to this
floor before."

His eyes continued wandering over the walls until they were at last
arrested by the old painting which the lamp illumined, and thereupon he
remained for a moment blinking as if surprised. And all at once he rose
and approached the picture. "Dear me, dear me," said he, "but that's very
good, that's very fine."

"Isn't it?" rejoined Pierre. "I know nothing about painting but I was
stirred by that picture on the very day of my arrival, and over and over
again it has kept me here with my heart beating and full of indescribable
feelings."

Narcisse no l