“A picture!” exclaimed Emily, and shuddered.
“Yes, ma’am, a picture of the late lady of this place. Old Carlo just now told me it was her, and I thought you would be curious to see it. As to my lady, you know, ma’amselle, one cannot talk about such things to her.”
“And so,” said Emily smilingly, “as you must talk of them to somebody—”
“Why, yes, ma’amselle; what can one do in such a place as this, if one must not talk? If I was in a dungeon, if they would let me talk—it would be some comfort; nay, I would talk, if it was only to the walls. But come, ma’amselle, we lose time—let me show you the picture.”
“Is it veiled?” said Emily, pausing.
“Dear ma’amselle!” said Annette, fixing her eyes on Emily’s face, “what makes you look so pale?—are you ill?”
“No, Annette, I am well enough, but
