upholstered in beautiful ribbed stuff, made to order, of dull
gold colour with a pale blue tracery of arabesques and oval medallions
enclosing Rita's monogram, repeated on the backs of chairs and sofas, and
on the heavy curtains reaching from ceiling to floor. To the same time
belonged the ebony and bronze doors, the silver statuette at the foot of
the stairs, the forged iron balustrade reproducing right up the marble
staircase Rita's decorative monogram in its complicated design.
Afterwards the work was stopped and the house had fallen into disrepair.
When Rita devoted it to the Carlist cause a bed was put into that
drawing-room, just simply the bed. The room next to that yellow salon
had been in Allegre's young days fitted as a fencing-room containing also
a bath, and a complicated system of all sorts of shower and jet
arrangements, then quite up to date. That room was very large, lighted
from the top, and one wall of it was covered by trophies of arms of all
sorts, a choice collection of cold steel disposed on a background of
Indian mats and rugs: Blunt used it as a dressing-room. It communicated
by a small door with the studio.

I had only to extend my hand and make one step to reach the magnificent
bronze handle of the ebony door, and if I didn't want to be caught by
Therese there was no time to lose. I made the step and extended the
hand, thinking that it would be just like my luck to find the door
locked. But the door came open to my push. In contrast to the dark hall
the room was most unexpectedly dazzling to my eyes, as if illuminated _a
giorno_ for a reception. No voice came from it, but nothing could have
stopped me now. As I turned round to shut the door behind me noiselessly
I caught sight of a woman's dress on a chair, of other articles of
apparel scattered about. The mahogany bed with a piece of light silk
which Therese found somewhere and used for a counterpane was a
magnificent combination of white and crimson between the gleaming
surfaces of dark wood; and the whole room had an air of splendour with
marble consoles, gilt carvings, long mirrors and a sumptuous Venetian
lustre depending from the ceiling: a darkling mass of icy pendants
catching a spark here and there from the candles of an eight-branched
candelabra standing on a little table near the head of a sofa which had
been dragged round to face the fireplace. The faintest possible whiff of
a familiar perfume made my head swim with its su