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"Gorgeous!" assented Miselle, peeping into a small pot where glowed and heaved what seemed in very truth a mass of molten rubies. "What are you going to make of this beautiful glass?" inquired she, enthusiastically, of a pleasant-looking man who was patiently waiting for room to approach his work. "Lamp-globes, Ma'am," returned he, sententiously. "Poor Miselle!
The material things about him walls, staircase, even the lamp-globes were shadowy and unreal in the midst of these mystically glowing conceptions. The sense of perfect health came to him a steady, rhythmic radiation; not a tired, weak fibre, but a singing vitality of every tissue, as if it were cushioned in some life-giving fluid a pure perfumed bloom of health. Bedient turned upon the stair.
Here slumbered lamp-globes of ground glass, lamp-shades, cut-glass goblets ornamented with gilt bronze, a match-stand in painted porcelain flanked by a child sleeping against a drum beside a dog, books whose bindings were detached, tattered musical scores, a couple of broken fans, a flute, and a small heap of carte-de-visite portraits.
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