As we entered, the glazed eyes of the man opened widely and he
clutched at the table with big red hands, leaning forward and
staring horribly.
Save for this derelict figure and some few dirty utensils and
scattered garments which indicated that the apartment was used
both as sleeping and living room, there was so little of interest
in the place that automatically my wandering gaze strayed from
the figure on the sofa to a large oil painting, unframed, which
rested upon the mantelpiece above the dirty grate, in which the
fire had become extinguished.
I uttered a stifled exclamation. It was "A Dream at Dawn"--
evidently the original painting!
On the left of it, from a nail in the wall, hung a violin and
bow, and on the right stood a sort of cylindrical glass case or
closed jar, upon a wooden base.
From the moment that I perceived the contents of this glass case
a sense of fantasy claimed me, and I ceased to know where reality
ended and mirage began.
It contained a tiny and perfect figure of a man. He was arrayed
in a beautifully fitting dress-suit such as a doll might have
worn, and he was posed as if in the act of playing a violin,
although no violin was present. At the elfin black hair and
Mephistophelian face of this horrible, wonderful image, I stared
fascinatedly.
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