busts of Beethoven and of Handel, placed on
brackets above the piano, shone as if rapt, transfigured in the mighty
inspiration that gave to mankind "_Fidelio_" and the "_Messiah_."

On the sofa which partially filled the oriel window, where the lace
drapery was looped back to admit the breeze, lay an ivory box
containing materials and models for wax-flowers; and, in one corner,
half thrust under the edge of the silken cushion, was an unfinished
wreath of waxen convolvulus and a cluster of gentians. There, too,
open at the page that narrated the death-struggle, lay Liszt's "Life
of Chopin," pressed face downwards, with two purple pansies crushed
and staining the leaves; and a small gold thimble peeping out of a
crevice in the damask tattled of the careless feminine fingers that
had left these traces of disorder.

The collection of pictures was unlike those usually brought from
Europe by cultivated tourists, for it contained no Madonnas, no
Magdalenes, no Holy Families, no Descents or Entombments, no Saints,
or Sibyls, or martyrs; and consisted of wild mid-mountain scenery, of
solemn surf-swept strands, of lonely moonlit moors, of crimson sunsets
in Cobi or Sahara, and of a few gloomy, ferocious faces, among which
the portrait of Salvator Rosa smiled sardonically, and a head of
frenzied Jocasta was preeminently hideous.

As Mrs. Gerome entered the parlor and brightened the flame of the
Psyche lamp, her eyes accidentally fell upon the bust of Beethoven,
where, in gilt letters, she had inscribed his own triumphant
declaration, "_Music is like wine, inflaming men to new achievements;
and I am the Bacchus who serves it out to them_." While she watched
the rayless marble orbs, more eloquent than dilating darkening human
pupils, a shadow dense and mysterious drifted over her frigid face,
and, without removing her eyes from the bust above her, she sat down
before the piano, and commenced one of those marvellous symphonies
which he had commended to the study of Goethe.

Ere it was ended Elsie came in, bearing a waiter on which stood a
silver _epergne_ filled with fruit, a basket of cake, and a goblet of
iced tea.

"My child, I bring your supper here because the dining-room looks
lonesome at night."

"No,--no! take it away. I tell you I want nothing."

"But, for my sake, dear--"

"Let me alone, Elsie! There,--there! Don't teaze me."

The nurse stood for some moments watching the deepening gloom of the
up-turned counte