Everything that sleep gives birth to that is lovely, its fairy scenes, its flowers and nectar, the wild voluptuousness or profound repose of the senses, had the painter elaborated on his frescoes.

It was a composition as soft and pleasing in one part as dark and gloomy and terrible in another.

The poisoned chalice, the glittering dagger suspended over the head of the sleeper; wizards and phantoms with terrific masks, those half-dim shadows more alarming than the approach of fire or the somber face of midnight, these, and such as these, he had made the companions of his more pleasing pictures.

No sooner had the king entered his room than a cold shiver seemed to pass through him, and on Fouquet asking him the cause of it, the king replied, as pale as death: "I am sleepy, that is all." "Does your majesty wish for your attendants at once ?" "No; I have to talk with a few persons first," said the king.

"Will you have the goodness to tell M.Colbert I wish to see him." Fouquet bowed and left the room..