mist, his doubts alone had substance. But, when
Beatrice's face brightened again after the momentary shadow, she was
transformed at once from the mysterious, questionable being whom he had
watched with so much awe and horror; she was now the beautiful and
unsophisticated girl whom he felt that his spirit knew with a certainty
beyond all other knowledge.

A considerable time had now passed since Giovanni's last meeting with
Baglioni. One morning, however, he was disagreeably surprised by a
visit from the professor, whom he had scarcely thought of for whole
weeks, and would willingly have forgotten still longer. Given up as he
had long been to a pervading excitement, he could tolerate no
companions except upon condition of their perfect sympathy with his
present state of feeling. Such sympathy was not to be expected from
Professor Baglioni.

The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossip of
the city and the university, and then took up another topic.

"I have been reading an old classic author lately," said he, "and met
with a story that strangely interested me. Possibly you may remember
it. It is of an Indian prince, who sent a beautiful woman as a present
to Alexander the Great. She was as lovely as the dawn and gorgeous as
the sunset; but what especially distinguished her was a certain rich
perfume in her breath--richer than a garden of Persian roses.
Alexander, as was natural to a youthful conqueror, fell in love at
first sight with this magnificent stranger; but a certain sage
physician, happening to be present, discovered a terrible secret in
regard to her."

"And what was that?" asked Giovanni, turning his eyes downward to avoid
those of the professor.

"That this lovely woman," continued Baglioni, with emphasis, "had been
nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole nature
was so imbued with them that she herself had become the deadliest
poison in existence. Poison was her element of life. With that rich
perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. Her love would have
been poison--her embrace death. Is not this a marvellous tale?"

"A childish fable," answered Giovanni, nervously starting from his
chair. "I marvel how your worship finds time to read such nonsense
among your graver studies."

"By the by," said the professor, looking uneasily about him, "what
singular fragrance is this in your apartment? Is it the perfume of your
gloves? It is faint, but delicious; and