m the following
morning, and identify such as were my property.

The next day I appeared at the bureau of the police. The portmanteau was
produced and unlocked, and the very first thing I set my eyes upon
was the picture. The case had been rudely torn open, and it lay there
exposed to all. My promise--my solemnly pledged oath, came instantly to
my mind, and all the awful denunciations the old man had spoken of, as
in store for him who should look upon that picture! I was horror-struck
and speechless, and only remembered where I was, as the _Commissaire_,
who stood behind me and looked at it, asked if I were the painter? I
replied not.

"The likeness is, indeed, wonderful," said he.

I started; but immediately recovering myself, said:--

"You must be under some mistake. You could scarcely have seen the person
for whom this was intended?" I said this because, from the attentive
consideration I had given it, as well as the initials in the corner of
the drapery, I perceived it to be one of the most beautifully executed
enamels of Julio Romano, and must, at least, have been nearly two
centuries old.

"Impossible I can be mistaken!" said he: "that is not only the Comtess
d'Alvini herself, but there, and even more like, stands her uncle, 'Il
Dottore Albretto,' as he was called. Why, I remember as well as
though it were but yesterday, though I was only a boy at the time, her
marriage--with one of your own profession, too. How can I forget his
name!--ah, I have it--Antonio Gioventa! By the by, they said, too, the
union was none of the happiest, and that they separated soon after. But
of that I know nothing myself, for they never appeared in Naples after
the morning they were married."

How I longed to make one or two inquiries! but fear prevented me;--fear
lest my own ignorance concerning the history of the picture might be
discovered, and I confess, too, something like dread; for, the evident
age of the picture tallied but ill with the account the _Commissaire_
gave of the characters represented; and I longed for the moment I should
put into execution, at least, so much of my promise as was yet in
my power: putting it up, therefore, with such of my effects as I
recognised, I returned to my hotel.

The entire evening I could think of nothing but the story of the
_Commissaire_. The artist could have been none other than my old friend
Nichola Calertio--for by this name I had known him,--and that lovely
creature must have