It seemed to him that he had already imagined--in some picture, some poem--a similar adventure, under the self-same circumstances, with these identical surroundings and enveloped in the same mystery, but of which _another_--some fiction of his own brain--was the hero.

And now, by some strange trick of the imagination, the fictitious was confounded with the real, causing him an indescribable sense of confusion and bewilderment.
On each of the pieces of tapestry was a large symbolical figure--Silence and Slumber--two Genii, tall and slender, which might have been designed by Primaticcio of Bologna, guarding the door.

And he--he himself--stood before the door waiting, and on the other side of it was his divine lady.

He almost thought he could hear her breathe.
At last Mademoiselle returned.

Holding back the heavy draperies she smiled, and in a low voice said: 'Please go in.' She effaced herself, and Andrea entered the room.
He noticed first of all that the air was very hot, almost stifling, and that there was a strong odour of chloroform.