s a dagger. He hears the blade plunged into his
mistress' heart. She dies smiling on him; for she has saved him.

"And she is a happy woman!" added the Duchess, looking at Emilio.

"He escapes and flies to command the Dalmatians, to conquer the Illyrian
coast for his beloved Venice. His glory wins him forgiveness, and he
enjoys a life of domestic happiness,--a home, a winter evening, a young
wife and charming children, who pray to San Marco under the care of an
old nurse. Yes, for three francs' worth of opium he furnishes our empty
arsenal, he watches convoys of merchandise coming in, going to the four
quarters of the world. The forces of modern industry no longer reign in
London, but in his own Venice, where the hanging gardens of Semiramis,
the Temple of Jerusalem, the marvels of Rome, live once more. He adds
to the glories of the middle ages by the labors of steam, by new
masterpieces of art under the protection of Venice, who protected it of
old. Monuments and nations crowd into his little brain; there is room
for them all. Empires and cities and revolutions come and vanish in the
course of a few hours, while Venice alone expands and lives; for the
Venice of his dreams is the empress of the seas. She has two millions of
inhabitants, the sceptre of Italy, the mastery of the Mediterranean and
the Indies!"

"What an opera is the brain of man! What an unfathomed abyss!--even to
those who, like Gall, have mapped it out," cried the physician.

"Dear Duchess," said Vendramin, "do not omit the last service that my
elixir will do me. After hearing ravishing voices and imbibing music
through every pore, after experiencing the keenest pleasures and
the fiercest delights of Mahomet's paradise, I see none but the most
terrible images. I have visions of my beloved Venice full of children's
faces, distorted, like those of the dying; of women covered with
dreadful wounds, torn and wailing; of men mangled and crushed by the
copper sides of crashing vessels. I begin to see Venice as she is,
shrouded in crape, stripped, robbed, destitute. Pale phantoms wander
through her streets!

"Already the Austrian soldiers are grinning over me, already my
visionary life is drifting into real life; whereas six months ago real
life was the bad dream, and the life of opium held love and bliss,
important affairs and political interests. Alas! To my grief, I see the
dawn over my tomb, where truth and falsehood mingle in a dubious light,
which is