"The woman to whom you refer is still living. We heard fully about her last year, and, we are informed, is now in the service of Lady Alice Redcliffe, of Wardlock, within easy reach of Marlowe. We found her, as we thought, reliable in her statements, though impracticable and reserved; but that is eight years since. She was, I think, some way past fifty then."
M. Varbarriere looked up here, and placed the letter in his pocket, beholding his valet entering.
"Come in, Jacques," exclaimed the ponderous old gentleman, in the vernacular of the valet.
He entered gaily bowing and smiling.
"Well, my friend," he exclaimed good-humouredly, "you look very happy, and no wonder—you, a lover of beauty, are fortunate in a house where so much is treasured."
"Ah! Monsieur mocks himself of me. But there are many beautiful ladies assembled here, my faith!"
"What do you think of Lady Jane Lennox?"
"Oh, heavens! it is an angel!"
"And only think! she inhabits, all alone, that terrible green chamber!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with an unwonted smile, "I have just been wondering about that green chamber, regarding which so many tales of terror are related, and trying from its outward aspect to form some conjecture as to its interior, you understand, its construction and arrangements. It interests me so strangely. Now, I dare say, by this time so curious a sprite as you—so clever—so potent with that fair sex who hold the keys of all that is worth visiting, there is hardly a nook in this house, from the cellar to the garret, worth looking at, into which you have not contrived a peep during this time?"
"Ah, my faith! Monsieur does me too much honour. I may have been possibly, but I do not know to which of the rooms they accord that name."