The walls were richly
tapestried with products of the looms of the Gobelins, representing
the plains of Italy filled with sunshine, where groves, temples, and
colonnades were pictured in endless vistas of beauty. The furniture
of the chamber was of regal magnificence. Nothing that luxury could
desire, or art furnish, had been spared in its adornment. On a sofa
lay a guitar, and beside it a scarf and a dainty glove fit for the
hand of the fairy queen.
The Intendant looked eagerly round, as he entered this bright
chamber of his fancy, but saw not its expected occupant. A recess
in the deep wall at the farthest side of the room contained an
oratory with an altar and a crucifix upon it. The recess was partly
in the shade. But the eyes of the Intendant discerned clearly
enough the kneeling, or rather the prostrate, figure of Caroline de
St. Castin. Her hands were clasped beneath her head, which was
bowed to the ground. Her long, black hair lay dishevelled over her
back, as she lay in her white robe like the Angel of Sorrow, weeping
and crying from the depths of her broken heart, "Lamb of God, that
taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon me!" She was so
absorbed in her grief that she did not notice the entrance of the
Intendant.
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