stir at the court, and in the city, no matter how much pains
may be taken to keep the facts from the public, and, although he was not
at all popular, indeed very much the reverse, there will be much regret
expressed, and you will probably be severely blamed. But now let us put
spurs to these lazy steeds of ours, and try to get on a little faster."

While they are galloping towards Paris, we will return to the
chateau--as quiet now as it had been noisy a little while before. In
the young duke's room, a candelabrum, with several branches, stood on a
round table, so that the light from the candles fell upon the bed, where
he lay with closed eyes, as motionless as a corpse, and as pale. The
walls of the large chamber, above a high wainscot of ebony picked out
with gold, were hung with superb tapestry, representing the history of
Medea and Jason, with all its murderous and revolting details. Here,
Medea was seen cutting the body of Pelias into pieces, under pretext of
restoring his youth--there, the madly jealous woman and unnatural
mother was murdering her own children; in another panel she was
fleeing, surfeited with vengeance, in her chariot, drawn by huge dragons
breathing out flames of fire. The tapestry was certainly magnificent in
quality and workmanship, rich in colouring, artistic in design, and very
costly--but inexpressibly repulsive. These mythological horrors gave
the luxurious room an intensely disagreeable, lugubrious aspect, and
testified to the natural ferocity and cruelty of the person who had
selected them. Behind the bed the crimson silk curtains had been drawn
apart, exposing to view the representation of Jason's terrible conflict
with the fierce, brazen bulls that guarded the golden fleece, and
Vallombreuse, lying senseless below them, looked as if he might have
been one of their victims. Various suits of clothes, of the greatest
richness and elegance, which had been successively tried on and
rejected, were scattered about, and in a splendid great Japanese vase,
standing on an ebony table near the head of the bed, was a bouquet of
beautiful flowers, destined to replace the one Isabelle had already
refused to receive--its glowing tints making a strange contrast with the
death-like face, which was whiter than the snowy pillow it rested
on. The prince, sitting in an arm-chair beside the bed, gazed at his
unconscious son with mournful intentness, and bent down from time to
time to listen at the slightly par