Old Pieto felt a thrill of superstitious awe as he turned the key in the massive lock. A chill wind pierced him as he threw open the great door and stepped into the gloomy hall. The lantern he carried threw shaking patches of ochre light on the flagged floor, and an army of rats and spiders scampered away at the approach of this intruder in their domains. One great fellow stood his ground, regarding the intruder with beady black eyes in which the rays of the lantern touched little pin points of flame. With a cry old Pieto flung the heavy door-key, and, squeaking, old King Rat disappeared.
A woman with a thin wrinkled face had been peering over the old man's shoulder, and now she followed him timidly into the hall, holding her skirts well above her ankles and looking fearsomely at the desolation around her. On her arm she carried a large basket, which she now set down at the foot of the staircase.
Old Pieto remembered the last occasion when he had been there, some two months ago, when a supper had been organized by Dasso to celebrate the benefit of La Belle Espanzo at the Casino, and as he opened the door of the dining-hall the scene came back to him in full force.
The long oaken table from which the cloth had been half snatched was still littered with the débris of the feast. The old manservant knew that he ought to have cleared it away, but it was a long journey from Corbo, and it had been put off. A tall epergne in the centre of the table had been overturned, and flowers, yellow and brittle, were tumbled together with the wrinkled mummies of fruit, and lay in a scattered heap on the oak floor. He remembered how the young bloods had toasted the lovely dancer, drinking champagne from her slipper. The little high-heeled satin drinking vessel still lay on the table, shapeless now and stained with wine. Pieto noticed that a giant spider web stretched from the dainty rosette of the shoe to the back of one of the carved chairs.
The sight of the disarray of wine bottles suggested the cellar to the old man, and, still carrying the lantern, he descended the broken stone steps at the end of the passage, reappearing almost immediately with a couple of tall thin-necked flasks.
He called his wife and bade her make a fire in the open grate, and soon the blaze shone merrily on the tarnished silver and glass on the table and threw weird and flickering shadows into the corners of the dark panelled walls.
The worthy couple, with chairs drawn up to the genial warmth, attacked the bottles gratefully. It was no joke for the master to pack them off to this spot in the dead of night. The journey had been a long and wearisome one, they had had to walk the last quarter of a mile, and it had rained a little as they came through the forest.
But there was work to do and to do quickly. Pieto was content to superintend operations, and he issued orders from his armchair, while Teresa cleared the débris from the table. The old fellow, warmed by the wine he had taken, entertained his wife with reminiscences of the feast. He rubbed his skinny hands together as he talked.
"Ah, that was a night, Teresa—the wine flowed like water—the best in the cellars, too. And the beautiful Espanzo—divine!" the old reprobate kissed the grimy tips of his fingers, "blue-black hair, and a mouth like a splash of wine—and—her eyes as she danced!"
The old woman seemed not to hear him, working steadily, piling the broken glass and fruit into the table-cloth and tying up the four corners. Her husband looked shrewdly at her from beneath his shaggy brows and rambled on.