Gentleman Geff was sleeping, or seemed to be so.
Longman went and opened the shutters of one window, but drew down the white linen shade and let fall the white lace curtains. This filled the chamber with a soft, subdued light.
Longman was getting to be an experienced nurse, and knew that it would not be well to startle the patient, who had lived so long in shadows, with too bright a light.
When he had arranged the room to his satisfaction he resumed his seat at the bedside, and fell into the reflection that, notwithstanding all the unbelief and hardness of heart that degrade this age of the world, there were still some good Christian people who lived by the golden rule.
In the midst of these reflections he was startled by seeing Gentleman Geff turn over to the front of the bed and stare out through the opening of his festooned white curtains. His eyes took in the soft, dim outlines of a moonlight-looking room, though it was now really midday, and the white window shade and the white lace curtains produced the lunar effect.
By this soft effulgence he saw that the room was very spacious, and had four lace-curtained windows, and a lovely lace-draped dressing-table, soft, white, dimity-covered chairs and sofa, and pretty Turkey rugs upon a polished yellow oak floor.
The richly carved marble mantelpiece, with its large mirror, Sèvres vases and terra cotta statuettes, and the polished steel stove, with its glowing but flameless fire of hard coal, was hidden from his sight by a tall Japan screen.
Everything in the apartment bespoke wealth, culture and luxury.
Gentleman Geff stared until his eyes stood out from their sockets. Then he muttered to himself:
“This is not a prison cell, nor yet any hospital ward; yet this man sitting here must be the same Giant Despair who was with me in jail. There can’t be two of that size in the same country.”