The walls are covered
with tapestry, and surrounded with great gold frames, the figures being
as large as life, in ancient and very curious costume, and the subjects
represented are hunting, hawking, and generally festive. It is not too
stately to be extremely comfortable; and here we had our tea, for with
his usual patriotic leanings he insisted that the national beverage
should make its appearance regularly with our coffee and chocolate. We sat here this night, and with candles lighted, were talking over the
adventure of the evening. Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine were both of our party. The young stranger had hardly lain down in her bed when she sank into a
deep sleep; and those ladies had left her in the care of a servant. “How do you like our guest?” I asked, as soon as Madame entered. “Tell
me all about her?”

“I like her extremely,” answered Madame, “she is, I almost think, the
prettiest creature I ever saw; about your age, and so gentle and nice.”

“She is absolutely beautiful,” threw in Mademoiselle, who had peeped
for a moment into the stranger’s room. “And such a sweet voice!” added Madame Perrodon. “Did you remark a woman in the carriage, after it was set up again, who
did not get out,” inquired Mademoiselle, “but only looked from the
window?”

“No, we had not seen her.”

Then she described a hideous black woman, with a sort of colored turban
on her head, and who was gazing all the time from the carriage window,
nodding and grinning derisively towards the ladies, with gleaming eyes
and large white eyeballs, and her teeth set as if in fury. “Did you remark what an ill-looking pack of men the servants were?”
asked Madame. “Yes,” said my father, who had just come in, “ugly, hang-dog looking
fellows as ever I beheld in my life. I hope they mayn’t rob the poor
lady in the forest. They are clever rogues, however; they got
everything to rights in a minute.”

“I dare say they are worn out with too long traveling,” said Madame. “Besides looking wicked, their faces were so strangely lean, and dark,
and sullen. I am very curious, I own; but I dare say the young lady
will tell you all about it tomorrow, if she is sufficiently recovered.”

“I don’t think she will,” said my father, with a mysterious smile, and
a little nod of his head, as if he knew more about it than he cared to
tell us. This made us all the more inquisitive as to what had passed between him
and the lady in the black velvet, in the brief but earnest interview
that had immediately preceded her departure. We were scarcely alone, when I entreated him to tell me. He did not
need much pressing. “There is no particular reason why I should not tell you. She expressed
a reluctance to trouble us with the care of her daughter, saying she
was in delicate health, and nervous, but not subject to any kind of
seizure—she volunteered that—nor to any illusion; being, in fact,
perfectly sane.”

“How very odd to say all that!” I interpolated. “It was so
unnecessary.”

“At all events it _was_ said,” he laughed, “and as you wish to know all
that passed, which was indeed very little, I tell you. She then said,
‘I am making a long journey of _vital_ importance—she emphasized the
word—rapid and secret; I shall return for my child in three months; in
the meantime, she will be silent as to who we are, whence we come, and
whither we are traveling.’ That is all she said. She spoke very pure
French. When she said the word ‘secret,’ she paused for a few seconds,
looking sternly, her eyes fixed on mine. I fancy she makes a great
point of that. You saw how quickly she was gone. I hope I have not done
a very foolish thing, in taking charge of the young lady.”

For my part, I was delighted. I was longing to see and talk to her; and
only waiting till the doctor should give me leave. You, who live in
towns, can have no idea how great an event the introduction of a new
friend is, in such a solitude as surrounded us. The doctor did not arrive till nearly one o’clock; but I could no more
have gone to my bed and slept, than I could have overtaken, on foot,
the carriage in which the princess in black velvet had driven away. When the physician came down to the drawing room, it was to report very
favorably upon his patient. She was now sitting up, her pulse quite
regular, apparently perfectly well. She had sustained no injury, and
the little shock to her nerves had passed away quite harmlessly. There
could be no harm certainly in my seeing her, if we both wished it; and,
with this permission I sent, forthwith, to know whether she would allow
me to visit her for a few minutes in her room. The servant returned immediately to say that she desired nothing more. You may be sure I was not long in availing myself of this permission. Our visitor lay in one of the handsomest rooms in the schloss. It was,
perhaps, a little stately. There was a somber piece of tapestry
opposite the foot of the bed, representing Cleopatra with the asps to
her bosom; and other solemn classic scenes were displayed, a little
faded, upon the other walls. But there was gold carving, and rich and
varied color enough in the other decorations of the room, to more than
redeem the gloom of the old tapestry. There were candles at the bedside. She was sitting up; her slender
pretty figure enveloped in the soft silk dressing gown, embroidered
with flowers, and lined with thick quilted silk, which her mother had
thrown over her feet as she lay upon the ground. What was it that, as I reached the bedside and had just begun my little
greeting, struck me dumb in a moment, and made me recoil a step or two
from before her? I will tell you. I saw the very face which had visited me in my childhood at night,
which remained so fixed in my memory, and on which I had for so many
years so often ruminated with horror, when no one suspected of what I
was thinking. It was pretty, even beautiful; and when I first beheld it, wore the
same melancholy expression. But this almost instantly lighted into a strange fixed smile of
recognition. There was a silence of fully a minute, and then at length she spoke; I
could not. “How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Twelve years ago, I saw your face in a
dream, and it has haunted me ever since.”

“Wonderful indeed!” I repeated, overcoming with an effort the horror
that had for a time suspended my utterances. “Twelve years ago, in
vision or reality, I certainly saw you. I could not forget your face. It has remained before my eyes ever since.”

Her smile had softened. Whatever I had fancied strange in it, was gone,
and it and her dimpling cheeks were now delightfully pretty and
intelligent. I felt reassured, and continued more in the vein which hospitality
indicated, to bid her welcome, and to tell her how much pleasure her
accidental arrival had given us all, and especially what a happiness it
was to me. I took her hand as I spoke. I was a little shy, as lonely people are,
but the situation made me eloquent, and even bold.