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 made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress.

In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.

Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again eagerly:

“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”

Psyche gained courage.

“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may be left alone.”

Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating jewels, and