This last was an exclamation of pleasure; she had found some toy that charmed her—­it was the old mirror set in its frame of pearls.  The possession of this object seemed to fill her with extraordinary joy, and she evidently retained no consciousness of where she was, for she sat down on the upturned coffin, which had held my living body, with absolute indifference.  Still singing softly to herself, she gazed lovingly at her own reflection, and fingered the jewels she wore, arranging and rearranging them in various patterns with one hand, while in the other she raised the looking-glass in the flare of the candles which lighted up its quaint setting.  A strange and awful picture she made there—­gazing with such lingering tenderness on the portrait of her own beauty—­while surrounded by the moldering coffins that silently announced how little such beauty was worth—­playing with jewels, the foolish trinkets of life, in the abode of skeletons, where the password is death!  Thinking thus, I gazed at her, as one might gaze at a dead body—­not loathingly any more, but only mournfully.  My vengeance was satiated.  I could not wage war against this vacantly smiling mad creature, out of whom the spirit of a devilish intelligence and cunning had been torn, and who therefore was no longer the same woman.  Her loss of wit should compensate for my loss of love.  I determined to try and attract her attention again.  I opened my lips to speak—­but before the words could form themselves, that odd rumbling noise again broke on my ears—­this time with a loud reverberation that rolled overhead like the thunder of artillery.  Before I could imagine the reason of it—­ before I could advance one step toward my wife, who still sat on the upturned coffin, smiling at herself in the mirror—­before I could utter a word or move an inch, a tremendous crash resounded through the vault, followed by a stinging shower of stones, dust, and pulverized mortar!  I stepped backward amazed, bewildered—­ speechless—­instinctively shutting my eyes—­when I opened them again all was darkness—­all was silence!  Only the wind howled outside more frantically than ever—­a sweeping gust whirled through the vault, blowing some dead leaves against my face, and I heard the boughs of trees creaking noisily in the fury of the storm.  Hush!—­was that a faint moan?  Quivering in every limb, and sick with a nameless dread, I sought in my pocket for matches—­I found them.  Then with an effort, mastering the shuddering revulsion of my nerves, I struck a light.  The flame was so dim that for an instant I could see nothing.  I called loudly: 

“Nina!” There was no answer.