o himself, lifting his head. "Let us look at her,
but only for the sake of art."

"And then what a sight met his eyes," as Raoul says in "The Huguenots."

Seraphine was admirable beautiful. Her splendid figure, cleverly set off
by the cut of her solitary garment, showed itself provocatively through
the half-transparent material. All the imperious fever of desire woke
afresh in Rodolphe's veins. A warm mist mounted to his brain. He looked
at Seraphine otherwise than from a purely aesthetic point of view and
took the pretty girl's hands in his own. They were divine hands, and
might have been wrought by the purest chisels of Grecian statuary.
Rodolphe felt these admirable hands tremble in his own, and feeling less
and less of an art critic, he drew towards him Seraphine, whose face was
already tinged with that flush which is the aurora of voluptuousness.

"This creature is a true instrument of pleasure, a real Stradivarius of
love, and one on which I would willingly play a tune," thought Rodolphe,
as he heard the fair creature's heart beating a hurried charge in a very
distinct fashion.

At that moment there was a violent ring at the door of the rooms.

"Lucile, Lucile," cried Seraphine to the waiting maid, "do not let
anyone in, say I am not home yet."

At the name of Lucile uttered twice, Rodolphe rose.

"I do not wish to incommode you in any way, madame," said he. "Besides,
I must take my leave, it is late and I live a long way off. Good
evening."

"What! You are going?" exclaimed Seraphine, augmenting the fire of her
glances. "Why, why should you go? I am free, you can stay."

"Impossible," replied Rodolphe, "I am expecting one of my relatives who
is coming from Terra del Fuego this evening, and he would disinherit me
if he did not find me waiting to receive him. Good evening, madame."

And he quitted the room hurriedly. The servant went to light him out.
Rodolphe accidentally cast his eye on her. She was a delicate looking
girl, with slow movements; her extremely pale face offered a charming
contrast to her dark and naturally curling hair, whilst her blue eyes
resembled two sickly stars.

"Oh phantom!" exclaimed Rodolphe, shrinking from one who bore the name
and the face of his mistress. "Away, what would you with me?" And he
rushed down the stairs.

"Why, madame," said the lady's maid, returning to her mistress's room.
"The young fellow is mad."

"Say rather that he is a fool," claimed the exasperated