He had then touched the panel with his delicate knuckles; no voice had answered, and with a mirthful look he lifted the latch and we both entered. It was a sight that surprised me; for a most desolate prison-cell could not have been darker. The window ought not to be so named; for it let in no light, only shade, through its lack-lustrous green glass. There was no furniture at all, except a very narrow bed,--looking harder than Lenhart Davy's, but wearing none of that air of his. There was a closet, as I managed to discover in a niche, but no chest, no stove; in fact, there was nothing suggestive at all, except one solitary picture, and that hung above the bed and looked down into it, as it were, to protect and bless. I felt I know not how when I saw it then and there; for it was--what picture do you think? A copy of the very musical cherub I had met with upon Aronach's wreath-hung walls. It was fresher, newer, in this instance, but it had no gold or carven frame; it was bound at its edge with fair blue ribbon only, beautifully stitched, and suspended by it too. Above the graceful tie was twisted one long branch of lately-gathered linden blossom, which looked itself sufficient to give an air of heaven to the close little cell; it was even as flowers upon a tomb,--those sighs and smiles of immortality where the mortal has passed forever! "Oh, sir!" I said, and I turned to him,--for I knew his eyes were attracted thither,--"oh, sir! do you know whose portrait that is? For my master has it, and I never dared to ask him; and the others do not know." "It is a picture of the little boy who played truant and tempted another little boy to play truant too." And then, as he replied, I wondered I had not thought of such a possibility; for looking from one to the other, I could not now but trace a certain definite resemblance between _those_ floating baby ringlets and the profuse dark curls wherein the elder's strength almost seemed to hide,--so small and infinitely spiritual was he in his incomparable organization. "Now, sir, do come and rest a little while before we go." He was standing abstractedly by that narrow bed, and looked as sad, as troubled, as in the impending thunder-cloud; but he rallied just as suddenly. "Yes, yes; we had better go, or she might come." I could not reply, for this singular prescience daunted me,--how could he tell it was _her_ very room? But when we came into the corridor, I beheld, by the noonday brightness, which was not banished thence, that there was a kind of moist light in his eyes, not tears, but as the tearful glimmer of some blue distance when rain is falling upon those hills. We threaded our way downstairs again,--for he seemed quite unwilling to explore farther,--and I wondered where he would lead me next, when we met Milans-André in the hall. The Chevalier blushed even as an angry virgin on beholding him, but still met him cordially as before. "Where are you staying, Chevalier? At the Fürstin Haus?"