At last she opened her door, and looked with some curiosity up and down the corridor. Four closed doors to her right evidently led into rooms which must have that wonderful view over which the Countess had waxed so enthusiastic. Lily was sorry Aunt Cosy hadn’t given her one of those front rooms. It would have been nice to have had that beautiful view spread out before her, instead of only the bare mountain.
She walked lightly down the staircase, and then she waited a moment, wondering a little what she ought to do.
At last she opened a door which she knew led into the drawing-room. It was empty, and the blinds had all been drawn up, probably one of the windows had been left open, for the room no longer felt stuffy.
She walked over to one of the windows, and then she could not help giving a little gasp of surprise, for, walking so softly that she had not heard the cat-like footsteps, someone had followed her into the room and now stood, silent, by her side—
It was—it must be—Uncle Angelo!
Count Polda was a quaint, dried-up-looking little man. His body was very thin, and yet his pallid face was fat. He was looking at Lily with a fixed, considering look.
“Uncle Angelo?” she said shyly, and then held out her hand.
He took her little soft hand in both of his podgy ones.
“This is Lili?” he said in French. “Welcome to La Solitude.” And then he dropped her hand, and with the words, “You play Patience—hein?” he turned to the card-table, and began moving the cards.
“No, I’ve never played yet.”