To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like a piece of solid
ground to a man laboring in a morass; his mind seized upon it with
avidity; and he stood staring at it and trying to piece together some
logical conception of his surroundings. Plainly there was a flight of
steps ascending from his own level to that of this illuminated
doorway, and indeed he thought he could make out another thread of
light, as fine as a needle and as faint as phosphorescence, which
might very well be reflected along the polished wood of a handrail.
Since he had begun to suspect that he was not alone, his heart had
continued to beat with smothering violence, and an intolerable desire
for action of any sort had possessed itself of his spirit. He was in
deadly peril, he believed. What could be more natural than to mount
the staircase, lift the curtain, and confront his difficulty at once?
At least he would be dealing with something tangible; at least he
would be no longer in the dark. He stepped slowly forward with
outstretched hands, until his foot struck the bottom step; then he
rapidly scaled the stairs, stood for a moment to compose his
expression, lifted the arras and went in.
He found himself in a large apartment of polished stone. There were
three doors, one on each of three sides, all similarly curtained with
tapestry. The fourth side was occupied by two large windows and a
great stone chimney-piece, carved with the arms of the Maletroits.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253