Then the door was flung wide, and we saw on the stairs a whole family of friendly people, male and female, old and young, all in night dress, and all with arms outstretched in rapturous greeting. We might have been Prodigal Sons returning, instead of two strangers whose presence would be a source of continual danger.
Hyppolité and Athéné, the twins, aged eight, who had first peeped at us, now took us each by the hand, and led us upstairs.
"The last escaped prisoner we had here was a forger," said Hyppolité to us.
"He was a friend of father's," added Athéné over her shoulder, "and he escaped from prison about six weeks ago. He was afraid that the police would find his tools, so he threw them all into our cistern. They are there now."
We reached the top floor, and were shown by the twins into an apartment containing a double bed with a stuffy canopy of damask.
"This is the family bedroom," they said.
"And where are we to sleep?" I asked.
"Here," said Thémistoclé, the proud owner of the house. "My sister and I and the twins were using the bed until your arrival, but now we will sleep in the passage."
"The passage?" I echoed. "Haven't you any other beds, and were you all four using this one?"
"Yes, yes. The other rooms are full of lodgers. There are three officers of the Turkish army here at present. But they won't disturb you, because they are hiding too."