We went up the broad staircase, peeped into the sitting-rooms and boudoirs of the first floor, and then up another flight of stairs to the floor of the bedrooms.
"See the funny little staircase?" said Eloise, when we had looked into the bedrooms, ghostly and deserted. She was pointing to a narrow staircase leading from the corridor we were in.
"Let's see where it goes," said I, for it was years since I had explored this part of the château. "It looks ugly and wicked enough to lead to a Bluebeard's chamber."
But it did not. It led to a turret room, with four windows looking north, south, east, and west. A charming little room, with a painted ceiling, on which cupids disported themselves with doves.
Faded rose-coloured couches were placed at each window; on a table in the centre lay some old books, dust on their covers. The view was superb.
One window showed the forest, another the Seine winding blue through the country of spring, another the country of fields and gardens, vineyards, and far white roads.
The smoke of Etiolles made a wreath above the poplar-trees.
We sat down on a couch by the window overlooking Etiolles. We were so close together that I could feel the warmth of her arm against mine, and her hand hanging loose beside her was so close to mine that I took it without thinking. The picture outside, the picture of Nature and the wind-blown trees over which the larks were carolling and the small white clouds drifting, contrasted strangely with the room we were in and the silence of the great empty house. The little hand lying in mine suddenly curled its little finger around my thumb.
"Eloise!" I said.