th its flickering light;
brought his master, who had again become an automaton, into a great
gallery, and flung a door suddenly open. Raphael was all at once dazzled
by a flood of light and amazed by an unheard-of scene.

His chandeliers had been filled with wax-lights; the rarest flowers
from his conservatory were carefully arranged about the room; the table
sparkled with silver, gold, crystal, and porcelain; a royal banquet was
spread--the odors of the tempting dishes tickled the nervous fibres of
the palate. There sat his friends; he saw them among beautiful women in
full evening dress, with bare necks and shoulders, with flowers in their
hair; fair women of every type, with sparkling eyes, attractively and
fancifully arrayed. One had adopted an Irish jacket, which displayed
the alluring outlines of her form; one wore the "basquina" of Andalusia,
with its wanton grace; here was a half-clad Dian the huntress, there the
costume of Mlle. de la Valliere, amorous and coy; and all of them alike
were given up to the intoxication of the moment.

As Raphael's death-pale face showed itself in the doorway, a sudden
outcry broke out, as vehement as the blaze of this improvised banquet.
The voices, perfumes, and lights, the exquisite beauty of the women,
produced their effect upon his senses, and awakened his desires.
Delightful music, from unseen players in the next room, drowned the
excited tumult in a torrent of harmony--the whole strange vision was
complete.

Raphael felt a caressing pressure on is own hand, a woman's white,
youthful arms were stretched out to grasp him, and the hand was
Aquilina's. He knew now that this scene was not a fantastic illusion
like the fleeting pictures of his disordered dreams; he uttered a
dreadful cry, slammed the door, and dealt his heartbroken old servant a
blow in the face.

"Monster!" he cried, "so you have sworn to kill me!" and trembling at
the risks he had just now run, he summoned all his energies, reached his
room, took a powerful sleeping draught, and went to bed.

"The devil!" cried Jonathan, recovering himself. "And M. Bianchon most
certainly told me to divert his mind."

It was close upon midnight. By that time, owing to one of those physical
caprices that are the marvel and the despair of science, Raphael, in his
slumber, became radiant with beauty. A bright color glowed on his pale
cheeks. There was an almost girlish grace about the forehead in which
his genius was reveale