'how many years have passed, since this lady disappeared, annette?'
said emily.
'twenty years, ma'amselle, or thereabout, as they tell me; i know it is a long while ago.' emily continued to gaze upon the portrait.
'i think,' resumed annette, 'the signor would do well to hang it in a better place, than this old chamber.now, in my mind, he ought to place the picture of a lady, who gave him all these riches, in the handsomest room in the castle.but he may have good reasons for what he does: and some people do say that he has lost his riches, as well as his gratitude.but hush, ma'am, not a word!' added annette, laying her finger on her lips.emily was too much absorbed in thought, to hear what she said.
''tis a handsome lady, i am sure,' continued annette: 'the signor need not be ashamed to put her in the great apartment, where the veiled picture hangs.' emily turned round.'but for that matter, she would be as little seen there, as here, for the door is always locked, i find.'
'let us leave this chamber,' said emily: 'and let me caution you again, annette; be guarded in your conversation, and never tell, that you know any thing of that picture.'
'holy mother!' exclaimed annette, 'it is no secret; why all the servants have seen it already!'
emily started.'how is this?' said she--'have seen it! when?--how?'
'dear, ma'amselle, there is nothing surprising in that; we had all a little more curiousness than you had.'
'i thought you told me, the door was kept locked?' said emily.
'if that was the case, ma'amselle,' replied annette, looking about her, 'how could we get here?'
'oh, you mean this picture,' said emily, with returning calmness.
'well, annette, here is nothing more to engage my attention; we will go.'