They lingered to examine the entrance to the deceptive playground, composed by an ingenious gardener for the amusement of ladies and their cavaliers in the days of hoops and flowered waistcoats. But age and neglect had rendered it mournful and wild, had deprived it of all appearance of grace and regularity, and had changed it into thick yellowish-brown woodland, full of inextricable turns through which the slanting rays of the setting sun shone so red that some of the shrubs looked like smokeless fire.
"It is open," said Stelio, feeling the gate yield as he leaned on it. "Do you see?"
He pushed back the rusty iron gate, took a step forward, and crossed the threshold.
"Where are you going?" asked his companion, with instinctive fear, putting out a hand to detain him.
"Do you not wish to go in?"
She was perplexed. But the labyrinth attracted them with its mystery, illumined by deep flames.
"Suppose we should lose ourselves?"
"You can see for yourself that it is very small. We can easily find the gate again."
"And suppose we don't find it?"
He laughed at this childish fear.