impatience.

"Why, the same fate has happened to several of our city dames. That is
all."

"What has happened?"

"They have gone mad, and either felt or fancied some demon had gotten
them in keeping. For my part, I pretend not to a knowledge of the
matter. But you seem strangely moved, methinks."

The cavalier was nigh choking with emotion. Sick at heart, and with a
fearful presentiment of impending evil, he turned suddenly away.

His next visit, as may be supposed, was to his mistress. He found her
in great agitation. The portrait had been sent home the preceding
night, and completely finished, lay before her--an exquisite--nay,
marvellous--specimen of art. She was gazing on her own radiant
counterpart as he entered. They both agreed that something more than
ordinary ran through the whole proceedings, though unable to
comprehend their meaning. De Vessey related his discovery in the
Morgue, but not his subsequent interview with the sexton.

Ere night, Leonora was seized with a strange and frightful disease.
Symptoms of insanity were soon developed. She uttered fearful cries;
calling on the painter in language wild and incoherent, but of
terrific import.

The lover was at his wits' end. He vowed to spare no efforts to save
her, though scarcely knowing what course to pursue, or in what quarter
to apply for help.

His first care was to seek the dwelling of a certain renowned doctor,
a German, whose extraordinary cures and mode of treatment had won for
him great wealth and reputation. Though by some accounted a quack and
impostor, nevertheless De Vessey hoped, as a last resource, so cunning
a physician might be able to point at once to the source and cure of
this occult malady.

Doctor Herman Sichel lived in one of those high, antique,
dreary-looking habitations, now pulled down, situate in the Rue
d'Enfer. A common staircase conducted to several suites of apartments,
tenanted by various occupants, and at the very summit dwelt this
exalted personage.

A pull at the ponderous bell-handle gave notice of De Vessey's
approach, when, after due deliberation, it might seem, and a long
trial to the impatient querent, a little wicket was cautiously slid
back, behind a grating in the door. A face, partially exhibited,
demanded his errand.

"Thy master, knave!"

"He is in the very entrails of a sublime study. Not for my beard, grey
though it be, dare I break in upon him."

"Mine errand is urgent," said De Vessey; "