That same night there was in the city of Avignon a young man in distress of mind.

Now he sat, now walked in a high apartment, full of draughts and shadows.

A single candle made the darkness visible; and the light scarce sufficed to show upon the wall, where they had been recently and rudely nailed, a few miniatures and a copper medal of the young man's head.

The same was being sold that year in London, to admiring thousands.

The original was fair; he had beautiful brown eyes, a beautiful bright open face; a little feminine, a little hard, a little weak; still full of the light of youth, but already beginning to be vulgarised; a sordid bloom come upon it, the lines coarsened with a touch of puffiness.