“Good Heavens, my nerves are all distraught,” he said. “You nearly frightened me out of my wits.” He looked again at the poor dead thing that had been man, and then he started back in dismay. “But he was blind.” “Yes; he had been blind for nearly a year.” Chapter LVII AT that moment we were interrupted by the appearance of Madame Coutras, who had been paying visits. She came in, like a ship in full sail, an imposing creature, tall and stout, with an ample bust and an obesity girthed in alarmingly by straight-fronted corsets. She had a bold hooked nose and three chins. She held herself upright. She had not yielded for an instant to the enervating charm of the tropics, but contrariwise was more active, more worldly, more decided than anyone in a temperate clime would have thought it possible to be. She was evidently a copious talker, and now poured forth a breathless stream of anecdote and comment. She made the conversation we had just had seem far away and unreal. Presently Dr. Coutras turned to me. “I still have in my _bureau_ the picture that Strickland gave me,” he said. “Would you like to see it?” “Willingly.” We got up, and he led me on to the verandah which surrounded his house. We paused to look at the gay flowers that rioted in his garden. “For a long time I could not get out of my head the recollection of the extraordinary decoration with which Strickland had covered the walls of his house,” he said reflectively. I had been thinking of it, too. It seemed to me that here Strickland had finally put the whole expression of himself. Working silently, knowing that it was his last chance, I fancied that here he must have said all that he knew of life and all that he divined. And I fancied that perhaps here he had at last found peace. The demon which possessed him was exorcised at last, and with the completion of the work, for which all his life had been a painful preparation, rest descended on his remote and tortured soul. He was willing to die, for he had fulfilled his purpose. “What was the subject?” I asked.