“What next?  Only think of your hearing music now!”

“Heavenly music!” he went on.  “The sounds seem to come from above.”

“What?  You have always refused to give me a box at the Italiens because you could not abide music, and are you turning music-mad at this time of day?  Mad—­that you are!  The music is inside your own noddle, old addle-pate!” she went on, as she took his head in her hands and rocked it to and fro on her shoulder.  “Tell me now, old man; isn’t it the creaking of the wheels that sings in your ears?”

“Just listen, Naqui!  If the angels make music for God Almighty, it must be such music as this that I am drinking in at every pore, rather than hearing.  I do not know how to tell you about it; it is as sweet as honey water!”

“Why, of course, they have music in heaven, for the angels in all the pictures have harps in their hands.  He is mad, upon my word!” she said to herself, as she saw Castanier’s attitude; he looked like an opium eater in a blissful trance.

They reached the house.  Castanier, absorbed by the thought of all that he had just heard and seen, knew not whether to believe it or no; he was like a drunken man, and utterly unable to think connectedly.  He came to himself in Aquilina’s room, whither he had been supported by the united efforts of his mistress, the porter, and Jenny; for he had fainted as he stepped from the carriage.

“He will be here directly!  Oh, my friends, my friends!” he cried, and he flung himself despairingly into the depths of a low chair beside the fire.

Jenny heard the bell as he spoke, and admitted the Englishman.  She announced that “a gentleman had come who had made an appointment with the master,” when Melmoth suddenly appeared, and deep silence followed.  He looked at the porter—­the porter went; he looked at Jenny—­and Jenny went likewise.

“Madame,” said Melmoth, turning to Aquilina, “with your permission, we will conclude a piece of urgent business.”

He took Castanier’s hand, and Castanier rose, and the two men went into the drawing-room.  There was no light in the room, but Melmoth’s eyes lit up the thickest darkness.  The gaze of those strange eyes had left Aquilina like one spellbound; she was helpless, unable to take any thought for her lover; moreover, she believed him to be safe in Jenny’s room, whereas their early return had taken the waiting woman by surprise, and she had hidden the officer in the dressing room.  It had all happened exactly as in the drama that Melmoth had displayed for his victim.  Presently the house door was slammed violently, and Castanier reappeared.

“What ails you?” cried the horror-struck Aquilina.

There was a change in the cashier’s appearance.  A strange pallor overspread his once rubicund countenance; it wore the peculiarly sinister and stony look of the mysterious visitor.  The sullen glare of his eyes was intolerable, the fierce light in them seemed to scorch.  The man who had looked so good-humored and good-natured had suddenly grown tyrannical and proud.  The courtesan thought that Castanier had grown thinner; there was a terrible majesty in his brow; it was as if a dragon breathed forth a malignant influence that weighed upon the others like a close, heavy atmosphere.  For a moment Aquilina knew not what to do.