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When he had stretched himself on the sofa, he looked at the

title-page of the book. It was Gautier's "Emaux et Camees",

Charpentier's Japanese-paper edition, with the Jacquemart

etching. The binding was of citron-green leather, with a design

of gilt trellis-work and dotted pomegranates. It had been given

to him by Adrian Singleton. As he turned over the pages, his eye

fell on the poem about the hand of Lacenaire, the cold yellow

hand "du supplice encore mal lavee," with its downy red hairs and

its "doigts de faune." He glanced at his own white taper fingers,

shuddering slightly in spite of himself, and passed on, till he

came to those lovely stanzas upon Venice:

Sur une gamme chromatique, Le sein de perles ruisselant, La Venus

de l'Adriatique Sort de l'eau son corps rose et blanc.

Les domes, sur l'azur des ondes Suivant la phrase au pur contour,

S'enflent comme des gorges rondes Que souleve un soupir d'amour.