unds prepares one
better than anything I know for the contemplation of the picture."

As he spoke the folds of velvet slowly parted, and the Leonardo appeared
in its frame of tarnished gold:

From the nature of Miss Lombard's recitation Wyant had expected a sacred
subject, and his surprise was therefore great as the composition was
gradually revealed by the widening division of the curtain.

In the background a steel-colored river wound through a pale calcareous
landscape; while to the left, on a lonely peak, a crucified Christ
hung livid against indigo clouds. The central figure of the foreground,
however, was that of a woman seated in an antique chair of marble with
bas-reliefs of dancing maenads. Her feet rested on a meadow sprinkled
with minute wild-flowers, and her attitude of smiling majesty recalled
that of Dosso Dossi's Circe. She wore a red robe, flowing in closely
fluted lines from under a fancifully embroidered cloak. Above her high
forehead the crinkled golden hair flowed sideways beneath a veil; one
hand drooped on the arm of her chair; the other held up an inverted
human skull, into which a young Dionysus, smooth, brown and sidelong as
the St. John of the Louvre, poured a stream of wine from a high-poised
flagon. At the lady's feet lay the symbols of art and luxury: a flute
and a roll of music, a platter heaped with grapes and roses, the torso
of a Greek statuette, and a bowl overflowing with coins and jewels;
behind her, on the chalky hilltop, hung the crucified Christ. A scroll
in a corner of the foreground bore the legend: Lux Mundi.

Wyant, emerging from the first plunge of wonder, turned inquiringly
toward his companions. Neither had moved. Miss Lombard stood with her
hand on the cord, her lids lowered, her mouth drooping; the doctor, his
strange Thoth-like profile turned toward his guest, was still lost in
rapt contemplation of his treasure.

Wyant addressed the young girl.

"You are fortunate," he said, "to be the possessor of anything so
perfect."

"It is considered very beautiful," she said coldly.

"Beautiful--BEAUTIFUL!" the doctor burst out. "Ah, the poor, worn out,
over-worked word! There are no adjectives in the language fresh enough
to describe such pristine brilliancy; all their brightness has been worn
off by misuse. Think of the things that have been called beautiful, and
then look at THAT!"

"It is worthy of a new vocabulary," Wyant agreed.

"Yes," Doctor Lombard continued, "