"There, this door," said Valentine, "into the Duke's rooms, Adrian," and she rested her hand against it as she spoke.
It was a folding door, opening in the middle, firmly bolted from the inside, and appeared as hopeless as the great entrance to the suite within the palace, though unguarded.
Either side of it were deep-set, circular windows, ringed round and round with carving and ornamentation, placed too high to reach and too small to gain admission by.
The door itself was of wood, as firm and heavy as iron, clamped with gilded metal, and immovable to the touch.
"Does it look hopeless?" whispered Valentine.
Adrian would not have said so for his life.
"You would force it?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, hush!" Valentine leaned through the low arch and looked into the garden; as before, all was quiet; the life and bustle of the palace came through the front to-day, waiting news of the absent Duke.
She turned again with glistening eyes.
"Yes, I would force it—and I will show you how, Adrian."