He would have been to Faust a more dangerous tempter than Mephistopheles.
There was no sneer on HIS lip at the pleasures which animated his voice.
To one awaking to a sense of the vanities in knowledge, this reckless ignorant joyousness of temper was a worse corrupter than all the icy mockeries of a learned Fiend.

But when Paolo took his leave, with a promise to return the next day, the mind of the Englishman again settled back to a graver and more thoughtful mood.

The elixir seemed, in truth, to have left the refining effects Mejnour had ascribed to it.

As Glyndon paced to and fro the solitary corridor, or, pausing, gazed upon the extended and glorious scenery that stretched below, high thoughts of enterprise and ambition--bright visions of glory--passed in rapid succession through his soul.
"Mejnour denies me his science.

Well," said the painter, proudly, "he has not robbed me of my art." What! Clarence Glyndon, dost thou return to that from which thy career commenced?
Was Zanoni right after all?
He found himself in the chamber of the mystic; not a vessel,--not an herb! the solemn volume is vanished,--the elixir shall sparkle for him no more! But still in the room itself seems to linger the atmosphere of a charm.