was, peeping round the screen, with the same bronze-like countenance and
fixed glittering eyes. Tchartkoff made a violent effort to cry out, but
his voice was gone. He strove to stir his limbs,--they refused to obey
him. With open mouth and arrested breath he gazed upon the apparition.
It was that of a tall man in a wide Asiatic robe. The painter watched
its movements. Presently it sat down almost at his very feet, and drew
something from between the folds of its flowing dress. This was a bag.
The old man untied it, and, seizing it by the two ends, shook it: with a
dull heavy sound there fell on the floor a number of heavy packets, of a
long cylindrical shape. Their envelope was of dark blue paper, and on
each was inscribed, 1000 DUCATS. Extending his long lean hands from his
wide sleeves, the old man began unrolling the packets. There was a gleam
of gold. Great as Tchartkoff's terror was, he could not help staring
covetously at the coin, and looked on with profound attention as it
streamed rapidly through the spectre's bony hands, glittering and
clinking with a dull thin metallic sound, and was then rolled up anew.
Suddenly he remarked one packet which had rolled a little farther than
the rest, and stopped at the leg of the bedstead, near the head. By a
rapid and furtive motion he seized this packet, gazing the while at the
old man to see whether he remarked it. But he was too busy. He collected
the remaining packets, replaced them in the bag, and, without looking at
the artist, retired behind the screen. Tchartkoff's heart beat
vehemently when he heard his departing footsteps echoing through the
room. Congratulating himself on impunity, he joyfully grasped the
packet, and had almost ceased to tremble for its safety, when suddenly
the footsteps again approached the screen; the old man had evidently
discovered that one of his packets was wanting. Nearer he came, and
nearer, until once more his grim visage was seen peeping round the
screen. In an agony of terror the young man dropped the rouleau, made a
desperate effort to stir his limbs, uttered a great cry--and awoke. A
cold sweet streamed from every pore; his heart beat so violently that it
seemed about to burst; his breast felt as tight as if the last breath
were in the act of leaving it. Was it a dream? he said, pressing his
head between both hands; the vividness of the apparition made him doubt
it. Now, at any rate, he was unquestionably awake, yet he thought he saw