trangely like a child of her own who had
died when only three. Did she feel affection or pity? She herself could
not tell what she felt. Perhaps it was only irritation and terror at not
being able to rid herself of an annoying image; perhaps it was fear at
the thought that if a certain great sin had not been committed long ago,
if Marchese Franco's will had not been burnt, the child would not have
died.

When she was in bed she had the maid read some prayers to her, then she
ordered her to put out the light, and finally dismissed her. She closed
her eyes, trying not to think of anything, and saw beneath her eyelids,
a shapeless, light spot, which little by little transformed itself into
a small pillow, then into a letter, then into a large white
chrysanthemum, and at last into a pale, drooping, dead face, that
gradually grew smaller and smaller. She fancied she was falling asleep,
but as a result of this last transformation the thought of the child
shot through her heart, and although she saw nothing more beneath her
eyelids, her drowsiness vanished, and she opened her eyes, vexed and
uneasy. She determined to think out a game of _tarocchi_ in order to
drive away these troublesome fancies, and induce sleep. She thought of
the game, and succeeded, by an effort, in seeing in her mind's eye the
little card-table, the players, the candles, the cards; but when she
relaxed the tension of effort, in order to give herself up to a passive
contemplation of these soporific phantoms, something totally different
appeared beneath her eyelids--a head which was continually changing its
features, its expression, its position, and which, at last, slowly
drooped forward, as in sleep or death, so that she could only see the
hair. This was another shock to her nerves. The Marchesa once more
opened her eyes, and heard the clock on the stairs begin to strike. She
counted the strokes; twelve o'clock. It was already midnight, and she
could not get to sleep! She lay some time with wide open eyes, and now
images began to appear in the dark as they had before appeared beneath
her eyelids. At first there was only a formless nucleus, which soon
began to undergo transformation. She saw the face of a clock which
presently turned into the horrible eye of a fish, and then became an
angry, human eye. Suddenly the Marchesa felt quite sure she would not be
able to go to sleep at all, and once more the drowsiness that had
already taken firm hold on her, was