balanced
perfectly upon a slender neck. Her lips were sweetly curved and her nose
delicately shaped. As she bent over me, I could see the rounded curve of
her bosom. One slim hand reached out and touched my cheek. It was like
the touch of a falling rose petal.

In my dream I lay asleep, yet I was conscious of this lovely creature. I
watched her through closed eyelids, and held my breath, hoping she would
kiss me. It seemed as though I had never desired anything so much.

A half-smile hovered on her lips, but her eyes told me nothing. She
leaned lower. A faint perfume pervaded my senses, and then I felt her
lips upon my forehead. A great cold swept over me at her touch--swept me
down, down into blackness, and I knew no more.

* * * * *

When I awoke, the sun was pouring through the opened curtains. I reached
for a cigarette--my first conscious thought upon awakening--and not
finding my case under the pillow, suddenly realized my new surroundings.
At the same time, I remembered my dream. "Wrexler and his talk of a
red-haired beauty is responsible for that," I thought as I clapped my
hands.

De Lacy came in so quickly I knew he must have been waiting outside the
door. He started when he saw the curtain of my bed had been opened. "Did
you not pull them?" I asked.

He shook his head. I said no more, and the ceremony of my arising began.

When I had bathed in a great sunken tub--fortunately Diana de Poictiers
had had her daily bath in the far-off time--I sought Wrexler.

Together we breakfasted, and then I announced to de Lacy that we wished
to inspect the rest of the chateau. He led us to the left wing, and took
us through suite after suite. Beautifully furnished, the chateau was a
veritable treasure house. An antiquarian would have gone mad with
delight.

I noticed that de Lacy had avoided two heavily built doors opposite the
ballroom. When we had returned from our tour, I stopped before them.
"And here?" I asked.

"The picture gallery, my lord," he responded unwillingly, and swung the
doors open. There was an unhappy expression on his face.

The room was long and narrow, and the walls except for the windows were
lined with portraits. We walked slowly down the length of the room,
looking at the portraits of a dead and gone race.

"The former owners of the chateau?" I asked. De Lacy nodded.

Suddenly I looked at the part of the room facing the door which he had
entered. At firs