“’And there are bodies celestial and bodies terrestrial, but one is the glory of the celestial?” I quoted with, a slight smile.

Mrs. Everard looked shocked and almost angry.

“My dear, I am ashamed of you!  You are a believer in spirits, I do declare!  Why, I thought Maskelyne and Cook had cured everybody of such notions; and now here’s this horrid book going to make you more nervous than ever.  I shall have you getting up one night and shrieking about burning, immutable eyes looking at you.”

I laughed merrily as I rose to pick up the discarded volume from the floor.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said; “I’ll give back the book to Signor Cellini to-morrow, and I will tell him that you do not like the idea of my reading it, and that I am going to study the Bible instead.  Come now, dear, don’t look cross!” and I embraced her warmly, for I liked her far too well to wish to offend her.  “Let us concentrate our attention on our finery for to-night, when a ’dense and brilliant multitude,’ not of air, but of the ‘earth earthy,’ will pass us under critical survey.  I assure you I mean to make the best of my improved looks, as I don’t believe they will last.  I dare say I shall be the ‘sick nun’ that you termed me again to-morrow.”

“I hope not, dearest,” said my friend kindly, returning my caress and forgetting her momentary ill-humour.  “A jolly dance will do you good if you are careful to avoid over-exertion.  But you are quite right, we must really fix our things ready for the evening, else we shall be all in a flurry at the last moment, and nothing riles the Colonel so much as to see women in a fuss.  I shall wear my lace dress; but it wants seeing to.  Will you help me?”

Readily assenting, we were soon deep in the arrangement of the numberless little mysteries that make up a woman’s toilette; and nothing but the most frivolous conversation ensued.  But as I assisted in the sorting of laces, jewels, and other dainty appendages of evening costume, I was deep in earnest meditation.  Reviewing in my own mind the various sensations I had experienced since I had tasted that Eastern wine in Cellini’s studio, I came to the conclusion that he must have tried an experiment on me with some foreign drug, of which he alone knew the properties.  Why he should do this I could not determine; but that he had done it I was certain.  Besides this, I felt sure that he personally exerted some influence upon me—­a soothing and calming influence I was forced to admit—­still, it could hardly be allowed to continue.  To be under the control, however slight, of one who was almost a stranger to me, was, at the least, unnatural and unpleasant.  I was bound to ask him a few plain questions.  And, supposing Mrs. Everard were to speak to him about his being betrothed, and he were to deny it, and afterwards were to turn round upon me and ask what authority I had for making such a statement, what should I say?  Convict myself of falsehood?  However, it was no use to puzzle over the solution of this difficulty till it positively presented itself.  At any rate, I determined I would ask him frankly, face to face, for some explanation of the strange emotions I had felt ever since meeting him; and thus resolved, I waited patiently for the evening.