replied the professor, "is owing to a particular cause. But
let us look at some fine pictures on the side altars, which by a lucky
chance we obtained some time ago. There is only a single original--a
Dominichino--among them, the rest are by unknown masters of the Italian
school; but if you are free from prejudice, you will be forced to
confess that every one of them might bear the most celebrated name."

I found it was exactly as the professor had said. Strangely enough,
the only original was one of the weakest--if not the very, weakest of
the collection, while the beauty of many of the anonymous pictures had
for me an irresistible charm. The picture on one of the altars was
covered up, and I asked the cause of this: "This picture," said the
professor, "is the finest that we possess,--it is the work of a young
artist of modern times--certainly his last, for his flight is checked.
At this time we are obliged, for certain reasons, to cover it up, but
to-morrow, or the day after, I shall perhaps be in a condition to show
it you."

I wished to make further inquiries, but the professor hurried swiftly
through the passage, and that was enough to show his unwillingness to
answer more. We went back to the college, and I readily accepted the
invitation of the professor, who wished me, in the afternoon, to go
with him to some public gardens in the neighbourhood. We returned home
late, a storm had risen, and I had scarcely reached my dwelling than
the rain began to pour down. About midnight the sky cleared up, and
the thunder only murmured in the distance. Through the open windows
the warm air, laden with scents, entered the room, and though I was
weary I could not resist the temptation to take a walk. I succeeded in
waking the surly man-servant, who had been snoring for about two hours;
and in showing him that there was no madness in walking at midnight.
Soon I found myself in the street. When I passed the Jesuits' church,
I was struck by the dazzling light that beamed through a window. The
little side-door was ajar, so I entered and saw a wax-taper burning
before a niche. When I had come nearer, I observed that before this
niche a pack-thread net had been spread, behind which a dark form was
running up and down the ladder, and seemed to be designing something on
the niche. It was Berthold, who was accurately tracing the shadow of
the net with black colour. On a tall easel, by the ladder, stood the
drawing of an a