As he spoke, he laid his hand upon the back of the chair that held the miniature,–the seat opposite her own.
“Don’t sit there!” she exclaimed. “We must respect the customs of the house.”
“Of course!” and he drew up another seat.
Food and a little wine tended to freshen the spirits of both travellers. Pats especially acquired new life and strength. The arrival of 86a glass or two of claret in his yearning stomach revived his hopes and loosened his tongue. Noticing that her eyes were constantly returning to the little portrait that faced her, he said, at last:
“By the way, there is something in the cellar that may throw some light on this lady, or on that empty grave back there.” And he nodded toward the pines.
“What is that?”
“A coffin.”
He smiled at her surprise and horror. In a low voice, she murmured:
“It is empty, of course!”
“Yes, I raised the lid.”