Yet she still felt sure he was mistaken, he _must_ be the picture she remembered.
"It is very queer," she said.

"If you are not the picture, who are you then ?" "I pass my time," said the figure, somewhat irrelevantly, "between this room, where I was killed and the 'Salle des Caryatides,' where I was married.

On the whole I prefer this room." "Are you--can you be--Henry the Fourth ?" exclaimed Sylvia.

"Oh! poor Henry the Fourth, I am so afraid of them coming to kill you again.

Come, let us run quick to the old apple-woman, she will take care of you till we find grandmother." She in turn held out her hand.