The sun had reached his meridian height, and the heat was excessively great; there was a little wood to the right of the road, and they determined to go thither and to gain a shelter from the scorching rays which threatened to be intolerable, and to remain there perhaps even for the night, as they did not wish to enter Rome till the next day. They went accordingly, and as they advanced further into the wood the pleasantness of the place and the freshness of the herbage, through which clear streams murmured, confirmed them in their first intention. They penetrated so far in, that on looking around, they found they were quite hidden from the sight of any one passing along the public road, and as they were debating where to settle themselves, from the variety of pleasant spots which offered for their choice, all equally peaceful and inviting, Auristella, looking up by chance, perceived a picture hanging on the bough of a green willow, about the size of a quarter of a sheet of paper. It was a painting of the face only, of a very beautiful woman; on looking a little closer at the picture she saw clearly that it was her own likeness, and, surprised and wondering, she pointed it out to Periander; at the same instant Croriano exclaimed, that the ground was wet with blood, and he shewed them his feet all dyed with the crimson hue, and it was yet warm. The picture, which Periander instantly took down, and the blood which Croriano had discovered, disturbed them greatly, and made them anxious to find out the owner of the one and the cause of the other. Auristella was at a loss to divine when and how anybody could have become possessed of her picture, nor did Periander recollect that the servant of the Duke de Nemours had told him that the artist who had painted the portraits of the three French ladies, could also take that of Auristella, though he had seen her only once. If he had remembered this, he might easily have come to the conclusion which he did not guess. Croriano and Antonio followed the track of blood till they came to a sort of thicket or tuft of trees, at the foot of one of which, they saw a man of noble aspect, dressed as a pilgrim, seated on the ground with his hand pressed upon his heart, and covered with blood, a sight which distressed them very greatly to look upon, and still more when it met the eyes of Croriano, who went up to him, and raising his head, he discovered a countenance all bleeding and wounded, which, having wiped with a handkerchief, he knew to be the Duke de Nemours, for in spite of the different dress in which he found him, he recognized him at once, for they were great friends. The wounded duke, or he who appeared to be the duke, without opening his eyes, said in feeble accents, "Better, far better would it have been, O thou, whoever thou mayest be, mortal enemy of my peace, had the blow which thou hast struck been through my heart, for there thou wouldst have found a portrait still more vivid and true than the