She walked slowly through the apartment, looking to the right and left. Something had been done, but not much. There was a ladder against a wall in one room and the hangings were half torn down; a dozen rolls of new carpet lay in confusion in another, redolent of that extraordinary odour which only perfectly new carpets have; in one of the halls beyond, a quantity of more or less decrepit sofas and chairs had been collected and disembowelled, and the moth-eaten wool and musty horse-hair lay about them in mouldering heaps; the portraits were still in their places on the walls, and Montalto seemed to look sadly down from half a dozen frames at his young wife as she went by in black; there was Montalto in armour and Montalto in black velvet and ruffles, Montalto in a Spanish cloak and Montalto in a flowered silk French coat, with a powdered wig; but it was always Montalto; the likeness between them all from generation to generation had been amazing, and the old pictures made Maria nervous.
The young steward, whose name was Orlando Schmidt, walked by her left, hat in hand, glancing respectfully at her now and then to see whether she was going to say anything. But her lips were pressed together, and he fancied that the rings round her eyes grew darker as she neared the end of the long suite, and still went on towards the closed door with its tarnished mirrors. She looked very pale and tired.
‘Will your Excellency sit down and rest a while?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, thank you. Presently.’
And she went slowly on, slowly and steadily, towards the closed door, till she laid her hand on the chiselled handle and turned it and pushed against the panel. But it would not move.
‘Perhaps it is locked,’ suggested Schmidt. ‘I had not taken it for a real door. I thought the apartment ended here.’
‘No,’ Maria answered in a low tone. ‘This used to be my boudoir. Try and open it. I want to go in.’
The young man tried the handle, put his eye to the keyhole, and tried again. Then he shook his head.
‘It is not a very strong door,’ said Maria. ‘I think we could break it open. I want to go in.’
‘I can certainly break it,’ answered Schmidt.