asdressed,hewentintothelibraryandsatdowntoalightFrenchbreakfastthathadbeenlaidoutforhimonasmallroundtableclosetotheopenwindow.Itwasanexquisiteday.Thewarmairseemedladenwithspices.Abeeflewinandbuzzedroundtheblue-dragonbowlthat,filledwithsulphur-yellowroses,stoodbeforehim.Hefeltperfectlyhappy.

    Suddenlyhiseyefellonthesthathehadplafrontoftheportrait,aarted.

    "ToocoldforMonsieur?"askedhisvalet,puttingaeoable."Ishutthewindow?"

    Dorianshookhishead."Iamnotcold,"hemurmured.

    Wasitalltrue?Hadtheportraitreallyged?Orhaditbeensimplyhisownimaginationthathadmadehimseealookofevilwheretherehadbeenalookofjoy?Surelyapaintedvascouldnotalter?Thethingwasabsurd.ItwouldserveasataletotellBasilsomeday.Itwouldmakehimsmile.

    A,howvividwashisrecolleofthewholething!Firstiwilight,ahebrightdawn,hehadseeouchofcrueltyroundtheedlips.Healmostdreadedhisvaletleavingtheroom.Hekhatwhenhewasalonehewouldhavetoexamirait.Hewasafraidofcertainty.Whenthecoffeeandcigaretteshadbeenbroughtaurogo,hefeltawilddesiretotellhimtoremain.Asthedoorwasclosingbehindhim,hecalledhimback.Themanstoodwaitingforhisorders.Dorianlookedathimforamoment."Iamnotathometoanyone,Victor,"hesaidwithasigh.Themanbowedaired.

    Thenherosefromthetable,litacigarette,andflunghimselfdownonaluxuriouslycushionedcouchthatstoodfagthes.Theswasanoldone,ofgiltSpanishleather,stampedandwroughtwitharatherfloridLouis-Quatorzepattern.Heseditcuriously,wifeverbeforeithadcealedtheseanslife.

    Sho