“Nor anywhere near?”
“No. I have looked in every direction–and shouted in every direction. They are probably off in their boat.”
As Pats and Elinor approached the building and stood for a moment before the door, a squad of hens and chickens, most of them white, began to gather about. They seemed very trusting and not at all afraid. The guiding spirit of the party–a tall, self-conscious rooster, attired, apparently, in a scarlet cap, a light gray suit with voluminous knickerbockers, and yellow stockings–studied the new-comers, with his head to one side, expressing himself in sarcastic gutturals.
73“That fellow,” said Pats, “seems to be making side remarks about us, and they are not complimentary.”
His companion paid no attention to this speech. She had regretted her enthusiasm over the cottage. Enthusiasm might foster a belief that she was enjoying his society. So she remarked, in a colder tone, “I think you had better knock.”
He knocked. They listened in silence. He knocked again. Still no answer. Then he opened the door and entered, she following cautiously. After one swift, comprehensive survey, she turned to him in amazement. He was watching her, expecting this effect.
The interior of the building was practically a single room. From the objects contained it might be the hall of a palace, or of an old château–or of a gallery in some great museum. On the walls hung splendid tapestries and rare old paintings. Beneath them stood Italian cabinets of superb design, a marriage chest, a Louis XV. sofa in gilt, upholstered with Beauvais tapestry, chairs and bergère to match. Scattered about were vases in old Sèvres, clocks in ormolu, miniatures, and the innumerable objects of ancestral and artistic 74value pertaining to a noble house. Over all lay the mellowness of age, those harmonies of color that bewitch the antiquary.
Dumfounding it certainly was, the sudden transition from primeval nature without to this sumptuous interior. Conspicuous in the sombre richness of these treasures were two marble busts, standing on either side of the great tapestry fronting the door. They were splendid works of art, larger than life, and represented a lofty individual who might have been a marshal of France with the Grand Condé, and an equally exalted personage, presumably his wife. These impressive ancestors rested on pedestals of Sienna marble.
Elinor Marshall found no words to express her amazement. She stood in silence, her eyes, in a sort of bewilderment, moving rapidly about the room. At last in a low, awe-struck voice she said:
“Have you no idea what it all means?”