taking his eyes from Valeria, "to see
myself enter a spacious apartment with a vaulted ceiling, decorated in
Oriental style. Carved pillars supported the vault; the walls were
covered with tiles, and although there were no windows nor candles, yet
the whole room was filled with a rosy light, just as though it had all
been built of transparent stone. In the corners Chinese incense-burners
were smoking; on the floor lay cushions of brocade, along a narrow rug.
I entered through a door hung with a curtain, and from another door
directly opposite a woman whom I had once loved made her appearance. And
she seemed to me so beautiful that I became all aflame with my love of
days gone by...."

Muzio broke off significantly. Valeria sat motionless, only paling
slowly ... and her breathing grew more profound.

"Then," pursued Muzio, "I woke up and played that song."

"But who was the woman?" said Fabio.

"Who was she? The wife of an East Indian. I met her in the city of
Delhi.... She is no longer among the living. She is dead."

"And her husband?" asked Fabio, without himself knowing why he did so.

"Her husband is dead also, they say. I soon lost sight of them."

"Strange!" remarked Fabio.--"My wife also had a remarkable dream last
night--which she did not relate to me," added Fabio.

But at this point Valeria rose and left the room. Immediately after
breakfast Muzio also went away, asserting that he was obliged to go to
Ferrara on business, and that he should not return before evening.

VI

Several weeks before Muzio's return Fabio had begun a portrait of his
wife, depicting her with the attributes of Saint Cecilia.--He had made
noteworthy progress in his art; the famous Luini, the pupil of Leonardo
da Vinci, had come to him in Ferrara, and aiding him with his own
advice, had also imparted to him the precepts of his great master. The
portrait was almost finished; it only remained for him to complete the
face by a few strokes of the brush, and then Fabio might feel justly
proud of his work.

When Muzio departed to Ferrara, Fabio betook himself to his studio,
where Valeria was generally awaiting him; but he did not find her there;
he called to her--she did not respond. A secret uneasiness took
possession of Fabio; he set out in quest of her. She was not in the
house; Fabio ran into the garden--and there, in one of the most remote
alleys, he descried Valeria. With head bowed upon her breast, and hands
clasped