evice, swung an
immense oval mirror, set in a frame of the same materials. Near it
stood a small marble table, supported by an alabaster Psyche, around
which were strewn perfumes, jewel-cases, and various costly articles
for toilette uses. On each side of the mirror projected gas-burners in
the form of clusters of lilies--the flowers being of the purest
porcelain, and the rest highly gilt and embossed. Helen threw herself
down wearily in a large chair, while her maid turned up the light,
which was burning dimly, to a brighter flame, which revealed more
minutely the splendors of the room. Over the toilette-glass hung a
picture--there were no others on the frescoed walls; it was set far
back in a superb oval frame of ivory and gold, and as the brilliant
glare of lights shot upwards, an exquisite painting of the _Mater
Dolorosa_ could be distinctly seen--a strange companion, or presiding
genius, or ornament for the shrine for pride and vanity.

"You can go now, Elise," said Helen languidly.

"Shall I not undress madame's hair, and put her jewels away?" inquired
the Frenchwoman with an air of amazement.

"No--leave me at once," she replied, impatiently.

"Deshabillez-vous," muttered the woman. "To tell me go! I who was
_fille-de-chambre_ to une Grande Duchesse! Mon dieu! la chaleur est
tres-incommode! _Ingrat--parvenu_! _Un_--deux--trois! Il est temps
de se coucher." Helen had just touched her repeater, and with its
soft, silvery chime, it struck three. Elise hurried away from the
door, where she had lingered, in hopes of being recalled, to comfort
herself with a glass of _eau-de-sucre_, ere she returned to her pillow.
Helen got up and locked her door, and began to walk to and fro. By and
by the past, mingling with the present, made such a torrent of bitter
memories seethe and sweep through her desolate soul, that she wrung her
hands, and rushed backwards and forwards like one mad. In her wild
mood, she saw the glitter of her jewels, as she swept by the large
mirror of her toilette. She paused, gazed at herself a moment, then,
with a frantic gesture, tore the diamonds from her hair and neck, and
with a bitter laugh dashed them from her. Her beautiful face, as white
as the alabaster Psyche near her, was full of wild and demoniac
expressions, which chased each other with the velocity of clouds over
her countenance. Remorse, anguish, and despair settled like a brooding
tempest on her forehead; then wringin