"Aren't we here to play at being proprietors?" she asked. "Let's see if we can make some tea!"
"No, no," said Antonio. "I don't want the caretaker to find out we've been here. But stop—there should be some Madeira in the sideboard. Aha!"
They found the bottle and tasted it. Then they put everything back in its place. They were like children. Antonio became merry, and, without making a noise, began also to amuse himself. They returned to the drawing-room, and Regina partly opened the shutters. A green light illuminated one corner. Regina pretended to be holding a reception, mimicked the voice of the pretty blind lady, then lolled on Madame's favourite sofa. It was covered with grey fur, and suggested an immense sleeping cat.
In her soft dress, her hair falling loose on her forehead, her eyes burning, and it seemed artificially darkened, she looked, in the green penumbra, a real, great lady, blasée, lost in an unwholesome dream.
Antonio meantime tried to open the door which led to the terrace and the garden.
"Wait a bit," said Regina. "Let's look round up-stairs first. Have you ever been up-stairs?"
"I? Never."
"Well, come now. Leave that door locked. Come here. I want to tell you something!" she said, childishly.
"What is it? I'm looking for the key."
As if guessing her idea, he did not come to the lure.