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Rh For the first time it struck Francesca how exceedingly difficult she would find it to deliver the note with which she had been entrusted. The three Queens were seated at the upper end of the room, surrounded by their attendants, with every eye fixed upon their least movement: what excuse had she for approaching Henriette?—she had never been presented to her, and it was most probable the whole length of the chamber would be between them during the evening. But while she was increasing the difficulty by thinking about it, Madame de Mercœur, passing her hand through her arm, said, "You must come with me, Francesea; I want you to see the old portrait I was telling you about the other morning."

So saying, she led her into a small apartment adjoining. There were three small rooms, which ran one into another. They were alike hung with gray cloth, covered with pictures, while all the light came from above. The picture before which they paused represented one of those ruined fountains so common to Italy. Francesca gazed upon it as if it had been an old friend: many a time, beside such a one, with its curved and broken marble, had she wreathed the acanthus that hung around it, the green and trailing foliage so profuse in the South, into shapes even more fanciful than those