te staircase which led to the chamber of his mistress;
he entered the room, his heart beating with love and hope. His mistress
had died that morning!"

"Ah!" cried Hardy, covering his face with his hands, in terror.

"She was dead," resumed Rodin. "Two wax-candles were burning beside the
funeral couch. Rancey could not, would not believe that she was dead.
He threw himself on his knees by the corpse. In his delirium, he seized
that fair, beloved head, to cover it with kisses. The head parted from
the body, and remained in his hands! Yes," resumed Rodin as Hardy drew
back, pale and mute with terror, "yes, the girl had fallen a victim
to so swift and extraordinary a disease, that she had not been able to
receive the last sacraments. After her death, the doctors, in the hope
of discovering the cause of this unknown malady, had begun to dissect
that fair form--"

As Rodin reached this part of his narrative, night was almost come.
A sort of hazy twilight alone reigned in this silent chamber, in the
centre of which appeared the pale and ghastly form of Rodin, clad in his
long black gown, whilst his eyes seemed to sparkle with diabolic fire.
Overcome by the violent emotions occasioned by this story, in which
thoughts of death and voluptuousness, love and horror, were so strangely
mingled, Hardy remained fixed and motionless, waiting for the words of
Rodin, with a combination of curiosity, anguish and alarm.

"And Rancey?" said he, at last, in an agitated voice, whilst he wiped
the cold sweat from his brow.

"After two days of furious delirium," resumed Rodin, "he renounced the
world, and shut himself up in impenetrable solitude. The first period
of his retreat was frightful; in his despair, he uttered loud yells of
grief and rage, that were audible at some distance. Twice he attempted
suicide, to escape from the terrible visions."

"He had visions, then?" said Hardy, with an increased agony of
curiosity.

"Yes," replied Rodin, in a solemn tone, "he had fearful visions. He saw
the girl, who, for his sake, had died in mortal sin, plunged in the
heat of the everlasting flames of hell! On that fair face, disfigured by
infernal tortures, was stamped the despairing laugh of the damned! Her
teeth gnashed with pain; her arms writhed in anguish! She wept tears
of blood, and, with an agonized and avenging voice, she cried to her
seducer: 'Thou art the cause of my perdition--my curse, my curse be upon
thee!'"

As he pronounced