Although she had examined the portrait without the slightest agitation, the spectre had haunted her eyes for some time, and, whenever they fell upon a repellent face, she involuntarily compared it with the abhorred type; but she had eventually forgotten the incident, for she was naturally cheerful and placid, and as stout-hearted as most of the young châtelaines of the period of commotion and danger which was hardly at an end. And so, when she met D'Alvimar, it had not once occurred to her to compare his face with the picture; and even in the garden, as she chatted merrily with him, her arm in his, and looked him in the face, she had felt no apprehension. But why had she thought of Charlotte d'Albret while he was speaking to her? She had no idea; she paid no great heed to the coincidence at first. But D'Alvimar had insisted upon knowing her thoughts; he had almost spoken to her of love. At all events he had said more to her on that subject in two words, although she had never seen him before, than any of the masculine friends, young or old, whom she met frequently, had ever dared to do. Surprised by such excessive audacity, she had looked at him again, but this time by stealth. She had detected a treacherous smile on that charming face; and at the same time his profile, outlined against the ruddy background of the horizon, had extorted a cry of alarm from her. That handsome youth, who seemed determined to provoke the first pulsations of her heart, resembled Cæsar Borgia! Whether that was a mere fancy or a certainty, it was impossible for her to remain an instant longer on his arm. She had invented a pretext for her alarm. She had fled, and she had gone to look at the portrait, in order to banish or confirm her suspicions. VII As the daylight was rapidly fading and it was already dark on the courtyard side of the château, she turned back and went for a light to her room, which was in the wing adjoining the little gallery under the chapel. The closet containing the portrait was nothing more than a square cupboard of plain boards, fastened to the wall, like those in village churches in which are kept the banners used in processions. She hastily opened it, placed her candle so that its light fell upon the picture, and gazed at the infamous wretch's features. It was a fine painting. Cæsar and Lucretia Borgia were contemporaries of Raphael and Michelangelo, and this portrait, somewhat dry in execution, was in Raphael's first manner. It belonged to the same school.