Another pedestal is being occupied by Show Off and Serpenta, who are dancing a betrothal. In graceful pose and gesture, his movements are an epic poem in majesty and solid grandeur, hers the duplicate shadow of his, with interlacing quicksteps. An ice dance on the ice, the feet not raised off. The complication of steps is insidious to the eye in their noiseless turns. Noiseless? rising on the air is a melody, that grows and lessens, produced by the swift slipping. Ending in smooth tone as true love ought. When it is over, and the company dispersed, I wander around by myself to soon get lost in the tangle of halls, which labyrinth every way. Just here are niches in the walls with statues of people and animals like life. Here is a family group. The host is deep in Arc news ball (writing rolled up) his wife is crossing the floor toward the grandma, asleep in her arm chair, a kitten rolled up beside it. A child is playing on the floor. I touch its soft hair. It is cold. An idea enters my mind. Have not all these been once alive, and now ice embalmed? I intrude no farther. None look up to ask me to stay. A charm comes over me driving all uncanny sense away. How pleasant to have our dead welcome among us, as though not lost. Now I come to rooms of birds and other pets. A boa that swung Robet in olden time. What is this, an elephant like the mammoth, ice-locked in southern zone. Washed away? “O auntie!” I turn nervously around. It is not Miss Mae but Miss Serpenta. Show Off’s betrothed, who has mistaken my name. “Miss Robet is in the great hall, where Charley (mistake) is going to lecture. It is superbly decorated, a great globe of the earth in the center, colored. He will tell all about it. He has counted out a thousand and one inventions never seen here. He says he will lionize the natives. She told me to find you, for though any can enter an open archway, none can open a closed door.” I begin to feel as if Blue Beard lived here. The open rooms are so magnificent and shining one need not hunt him up. “The cue in the halls,” goes on the friendly girl, “is to keep on the smooth path. The lecture will soon begin. She is afraid you will take cold or something and wants you by to watch you.” “To watch me!” I muse maliciously. “Did I come, clear to Arc to be watched by an old maid, an old one truly?” _I turn to the rough path._ What is that under that chair? I do believe it is a paper. Charley has dropped some of his notes. I am so tired. I will sit down while I pick them up. Why don’t they come out? I get up and perceive the chair is an open work door, solid built. “O,” says Serpenta, trembling, as I hurry to undo the bar. She is paralyzed. As I open the door a little way, I see in the jar a Blue Beard. I said the lions are pink, this one is blue. His paw on the paper, his breath on me. No art manufacture now.