"Introduce me to your history." He repeated to himself the first measure of the symphonic sonnet, and the very affright, in its recall, pursued the heels of the desire. She reflectively watched him, not without little impatient movements of her fingers. "She who would make him her slave, would doubtless make him wise." "Yes, doubtless." Sixtine pronounced these few words gravely, in a cordial manner. Under the green of the old tapestry that hung from the ceiling and covered a whole side of the wall, in the still and cool room, a warmth of spring was diffused in golden waves; it was suddenly wafted from the vaporized intimacy. Uttering the appropriate trifles, to which Entragues lightly replied, Sixtine rose, lit a blue flame under the copper kettle, opened a box of cigarettes, moved about in such an adorable setting that he smiled with joy to see her go and come, lavishing pretty movements and beautifully arched gestures. She poured tea. "Now recollect. You owe me my commentary. What is that vision in which I appeared with 'the brow studded with stars?'" He told of the astonishing apparition, adding that there was a story which Monsieur de B----. knew. Sixtine interrupted him and pronounced the already familiar words: "If you wish, I shall tell you the story of the portrait chamber." Entragues started and grew pale. This exceeded the bounds of probability. With a weak voice, he answered: "I really would like to hear it." Sixtine began: HISTORY OF THE PORTRAIT CHAMBER "It is a tragic and rather strange story...." She stopped, seeming to summon her memory. Then: "No, I should indeed prefer not to tell you it." "Oh! please," urged Entragues, like a child who opens two wide, curious eyes. "No, sometime later, perhaps. If you had asked it down there, before those verses, before a coincidence which I guess and which disturbs me! I cannot just now. When you learn it, you will understand, and this very reticence will seem clear to you.... It is said that it has never lied.... Well, listen: 'The Château de Rabodange at one time was the hereditary domain....' It is too much for me.... Childishness? Don't say that!" "But I said nothing. The emotion I see you in does not suggest such words to me. Let us forget the story...." "Well," replied Sixtine, "try to guess it. You can. I give you permission. Perhaps you will tell it to me. Let us talk no more of it and please go. I get up early and I must sleep. You see that I treat you like a friend."