He showed me into a little bare room on the second floor, with nothing worthy of remark in it but an ill-furnished bedstead, and a baneful picture on the wall that I learnt was a portrait of Carinne by herself.
“It is a little of a travesty,” said De Lâge. “She looked in a mirror, and painted as she saw herself therein—crooked, like a stick dipt under water. But she was clever, for all she insisted that this was a faithful likeness.”
I believe there were tears on his face as he left me. What a riddle was the creature! There is a blind spot in every eye, it is said—and the eyes are the windows of the soul.
He had supplied me with soap and water and a razor, and these I found almost as grateful to my wants as the satchel had been. When I was something restored to cleanliness I descended to the corridor below, and, attracted by a sound of movement, entered one of the rooms that opened therefrom.
Within, a young woman was engaged in laying one end of a carved-oak table with a white napkin. She looked round as I advanced, stared, gave a twitter of terror, and, retreating to the wall, put an arm up, with the elbow pointed at me, as if I were something horrible in her sight.
I had a sharp intuition; for this, I saw, was the little aubergiste of the ‘Golden Lion.’
“You think me responsible for the poor rogue’s hanging?” I said.
She whispered “Yes,” with a pitiful attempt to summon her indignation to this ordeal of fear. I went up to her and spoke gently, while she shrunk from me.
“Georgette, my child, it is not so. You must take that on my honour, for I am a gentleman, Georgette, in disguise.”
“In disguise?” she whispered, with trembling lips; but her eyes wondered.