"Afterwards, the capuchin, (or the devil,) in an inconceivable manner, vanished; and it is said, that he fled, coward-like, from Victorin, who had risen like a bloody spectre from the grave against him. "Let all this be as it may, I can assure you, in plain truth, that the Baroness died mysteriously--probably by poison; and that Hermogen (the madman) was assassinated. The Baron himself, shortly afterwards, died of grief; and Aurelia, the pious Saint, whose portrait I painted, at the very time when these horrible events had taken place at the castle, fled as a desolate orphan into a distant Cistertian Convent, of which the Abbess had been in terms of friendship with her father. "You have seen and admired in my gallery the likeness of this admirable and unfortunate young lady. But as to other circumstances, this gentleman (pointing to me) will be better able to inform you than I am, since, during the whole of the adventures to which I have alluded, he was an inhabitant of the castle!" All looks, full of astonishment, were now directed towards me. Quite unnerved, and lost to all self-possession, I started up--"How, sir!" exclaimed I, in a violent tone--"What have I to do with your absurd stories of capuchins, and devils, and assassinations? You mistake me--you mistake me completely, I assure you; and I must beg that, for this once, you will leave me completely out of the question." Considering the tumult of my mind, it was difficult for me to give my words even this much of connection and propriety, or to assume any degree of composure. The powerful influence of the painter's narrative, and my excessive disquietude, were only too visible. The cheerful tone which prevailed through the party rapidly declined; and as the members of the club gradually recollected that I was a complete stranger, and had only by accident obtained my place among them, they began to fix on me mistrustful and suspicious glances. Meanwhile, the painter had risen from his chair, and, standing opposite, transfixed me once more with his dead-alive glaring eyes, as formerly in the Capuchin church. He did not utter a word; he stood cold, stiff, and, but for the expression of his eyes, as if lifeless. But at those ghostly looks, my hair rose on end; cold drops gathered on my forehead, and, seized by the most intense horror, I trembled through every fibre. "Avaunt!--away with thee!" I exclaimed, out of myself with agitation; "for thou thyself art Satan! Thou art the murderer--yet over me thou hast no power!" The whole party instantly left their seats.--"What's the matter? Who is that?" was heard from all quarters; and out of the adjoining _salle_, the people, terrified by my voice, having left their amusements, came thronging into our room.--"A drunk man!--A madman!--Turn him out!" cried several voices.