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96
THE VAMPIRE
advance . . . but the devil knows, he never makes a mistake, the vulture!’
The old Polish lady gave a shriek; her daughter had dropped into her arms in a dead faint, looking like death itself.
Her fiancé leapt down the steps at one bound, seized the Greek with one hand and his sketch-book with the other.
We ran down after him; both men were rolling in the dust.
The sketch-book flew open, the leaves were scattered, and we saw on one of them a striking portrait of the young girl. Her eyes were closed; a myrtle-wreath encircled her forehead.
