tiles, and furnished only with three chairs. In the drawing-room, above
the fireplace, is a superb Andrea del Sarto. The furniture is covered
with pale sea-green."

My companion listened to all this.

"The Andrea del Sarto is there; it's magnificent. But the furniture is
in pale red."

"Ah, they have changed it, then--in twenty-seven years."

"And there's a portrait of Madame de Salvi," continued my friend.

I was silent a moment. "I should like to see that."

He too was silent. Then he asked, "Why don't you go and see it? If you
knew the mother so well, why don't you call upon the daughter?"

"From what you tell me I am afraid."

"What have I told you to make you afraid?"

I looked a little at his ingenuous countenance. "The mother was a very
dangerous woman."

The young Englishman began to blush again. "The daughter is not," he
said.

"Are you very sure?"