“It looks more like a lady's boudoir than a prison,” said Monsieur Maurice, reading my thoughts. “I wonder whose rooms they were before I came here!”
“They were nobody's rooms,” said I. “They were quite empty.”
And then I told him where we had found the furniture, and how the ornamental part thereof had been of my choosing.
“I don't know who the ladies are,” I said, referring to the portraits. “I only chose them for their pretty faces.”
“Their lovers probably did the same, petite, a hundred years ago,” replied Monsieur Maurice. “And the clock—did you choose that also?”
“Yes; but the clock doesn't go.”
“So much the better. I would that time might stand still also—till I am free! till I am free!”
The tears rushed to my eyes. It was the tone more than the words that touched my heart. He stooped and kissed me on the forehead.
“Come to the window, little one,” said he, “and I will show you something very beautiful. Do you know what this is?”
“A telescope!”