But, peeping out at length and throwing one more glance at the picture, which was faintly illumined by her night-lamp, she heard still another repetition of the mysterious laughter, coming apparently from a great distance.

Was this, too, an illusion, a dream, a trick of her imagination?
If the painted Sappho was alive, why did she give these signs only at night, and not in the daytime as well?
November came, and with it rainy days, so that Blanka was constrained to suspend her drives to Monte Mario and remain in the house.

Every evening she sat before her open fire with her eyes fixed on the glowing phoenix with which the back of the fireplace was adorned.

It was the work of Finiguerra, the first of his craft to discard the chisel for the hammer.

The many-hued feathers of the flaming bird were of steel, copper, brass, Corinthian bronze, silver, and gold.