From without there came the sound of singing birds, the splash of fountains, a gentle music, but I recognised they might as well be silent for all the joyousness they brought to me.
The beauties of the hall were lost except to my intellect. I regarded them calmly and with an interest that had dulled.
Exquisite workmanship in furniture met my eye at every turn. The painted ceilings, the polished floor of rich mosaic, the easeful chairs that were in themselves like flattering apologies for graceful broad-armed thrones, the squares of rich-coloured carpet, the inlaid tables with their fine carved legs, the couches piled with softest cushions, the massive fireplaces filled with living coal, met my eye and left merely the impression of a dream.
Yet I strove to find some pleasure, but could find none.
From this she led the way into an apartment which was smaller and more adaptable for private life.
Its beauty was like all the rest, on the richest, finest scale.
She beckoned me toward a sofa by the fireplace, in which the flames leapt lightly, and with a sudden feeling of weariness I threw myself down on it.
“You are tired, stranger,” she said softly. “Sleep, sleep, and wake refreshed. The journey has been long, longer than mortal thought can reckon.”
And then, overcome with weariness and exhaustion, I slept, and for the time remembered nothing more.