r in the
country when one takes shelter behind closed blinds to enjoy a friendly
chat. One is always sad, dreamy, meditative at this hour of a lovely
summer-day, and can speak carelessly of indifferent things, and at the
same time have every thought concentrated upon one beloved object.
These are the mysteries of the _Demon de Midi_, so much dreaded by the
poet-king.

There was in one corner of the room a little rosewood-table, so frail
that it could be crushed by the weight of a man's hand. On this table
was a piece of embroidery and a crystal vase filled with flowers.
Suspended over this table was a copy of Camille Roqueplan's picture:
"_The Lion in Love_." In the recess near the window was a piano open,
and evidently just abandoned by a woman; the little stool was
half-overturned by catching in the dress of some one suddenly rising,
and the music open was a soprano air from _Puritani_:--

"Vien diletto, in ciel e luna,
Tutto tace intorno...."

You will see how by inductions I reached the truth. I don't know the
woman of this piano; I nevertheless will swear she exists. Moreover, I
know she is young, pretty, has a good figure, is graceful and easy in
her manner, and is adored by some one in the chateau. If any ordinary
woman had left her embroidery on the table, if she had upset the stool
in leaving the piano, two idle nervous young men like yourselves would
from curiosity and ennui have examined the embroidery, disarranged the
vase of flowers, picked up the stool, and closed the piano. But no hand
dared to meddle with this holy disorder under pretext of arranging it.
These evidences, still fresh and undisturbed, attest a respect that
belongs only to love.

This woman, to me unknown, is then young and pretty, since she is so
ardently loved, and by more than one person, as I shall proceed to
prove. She has a commanding figure, because her embroidery is fine. I
know not if she be maid or wife, but this I do know, if she is not
married, the vestiges that she left in the parlor indicate a great
independence of position and character. If she is married, she is not
governed by her husband, or indeed she may be a widow.

Allow me to recall your conversation with Edgar at dinner. Hitherto I
have remarked that in all discussions of painting, music, literature
and love, your opinions always coincided with Edgar's; to hear you speak
was to hear Edgar, and _vice versa_. In opinions and sentiments you were
twin-brothers