She led him into the big house, into a passage where his steps echoed. He could smell the scent of clothes and food; he thought of the long days when he had been kept indoors—of his school-days—and of everything in his life which had been cold and gloomy.
They went into a room full of men and women; how many, he could not see. They were talking, but as he went in they were silent. He noticed that the carpet had a pattern of huge, impossible flowers in gaudy colours. They were as strange and monstrous as those on the curtains in his bedroom at home.
'So that is the gardener's little boy?' said a voice opposite him. 'Come here, my little friend; there is nothing to be afraid of.'
And another voice close to him said—
'Well, Robbie, you have found a nice little companion.'
What did it all mean? The deep lines gathered again above Johannes's dark childlike eyes, and he looked about him in bewilderment and alarm. A man dressed in black sat near him, looking at him with cold, grey eyes.
'So you want to see the Book of Books? I am surprised that your father, whom I know for a pious man, should not have put it into your hands before now.'
'You do not know my father; he is far, far away.'
'Indeed! Well, it is the same thing. Look here, my little friend! Read this diligently; it shall show you the way of life——'
But Johannes had already recognised the Book. This was not what he wanted. No, something very different. He shook his head.