So she mounted, carrying the candle. The stair was steep, and the march long. We halted at the second landing, and entered a gaunt, grimy passage. All the way up we had not heard a single sound of life, nor seen a human being, nor so much as passed a gaslight.
'Voila! here 'tis, my dear old room. Enter, dearest Maud.'
And so I did. The room was large and lofty, but shabby and dismal. There was a tall four-post bed, with its foot beside the window, hung with dark-green curtains, of some plush or velvet texture, that looked like a dusty pall. The remaining furniture was scant and old, and a ravelled square of threadbare carpet covered a patch of floor at the bedside. The room was grim and large, and had a cold, vault-like atmosphere, as if long uninhabited; but there were cinders in the grate and under it. The imperfect light of our mutton-fat candle made all this look still more comfortless.
Madame placed the candle on the chimneypiece, locked the door, and put the key in her pocket.
'I always do so in 'otel' said she, with a wink at me.
And, then with a long 'ha!' expressive of fatigue and relief, she threw herself into a chair.
'So 'ere we are at last!' said she; 'I'm glad. There's your bed, Maud. Mine is in the dressing-room.'
She took the candle, and I went in with her. A shabby press bed, a chair, and table were all its furniture; it was rather a closet than a dressing-room, and had no door except that through which we had entered. So we returned, and very tired, wondering, I sat down on the side of my bed and yawned.
'I hope they will call us in time for the packet,' I said.