ined the amount of the wealth
amassed by his father, he returned in the evening to the death chamber,
his soul puffed up with a horrible egoism. In the apartment he found all
the servants of the household busied in collecting the ornaments for the
bed of state on which "feu monseigneur" would lie to-morrow--a curious
spectacle which all Ferrara would come to admire. Don Juan made a sign and
the servants stopped at once, speechless and trembling.

"Leave me alone," he said in an altered voice, "and do not return until I
go out again."

When the steps of the old servant, who was the last to leave, had died
away on the stone flooring, Don Juan locked the door hastily, and, sure
that he was alone, exclaimed:

"Now, let us try!"

The body of Bartholomeo lay on a long table. To hide the revolting
spectacle of a corpse whose extreme decrepitude and thinness made it look
like a skeleton, the embalmers had drawn a sheet over the body, which
covered all but the head. This mummy-like figure was laid out in the
middle of the room, and the linen, naturally clinging, outlined the form
vaguely, but showing its stiff, bony thinness. The face already had large
purple spots, which showed the urgency of completing the embalming.
Despite the skepticism with which Don Juan was armed, he trembled as he
uncorked the magic phial of crystal. When he stood close to the head he
shook so that he was obliged to pause for a moment. But this young man had
allowed himself to be corrupted by the customs of a dissolute court. An
idea worthy of the Duke of Urbino came to him, and gave him a courage
which was spurred on by lively curiosity. It seemed as if the demon had
whispered the words which resounded in his heart: "Bathe an eye!" He took
a piece of linen and, after having moistened it sparingly with the
precious liquid, he passed it gently over the right eyelid of the corpse.
The eye opened!

"Ah!" said Don Juan, gripping the flask in his hand as we clutch in our
dreams the branch by which we are suspended over a precipice.

He saw an eye full of life, a child's eye in a death's head, the liquid
eye of youth, in which the light trembled. Protected by beautiful black
lashes, it scintillated like one of those solitary lights which travelers
see in lonely places on winter evenings. It seemed as if the glowing eye
would pierce Don Juan. It thought, accused, condemned, threatened, judged,
spoke--it cried, it snapped at him! There was the most tender