He glanced at the count. Waldemar was smiling again.
"What makes the brute keep on grinning like that?" said Lupin to himself. "Any one would think that he was having a game with me."
He went to the palace on the off-chance, attended by his escort.
The ground-floor consisted of a number of large reception-rooms, running one into the other and containing the few pieces of furniture that had escaped the fire.
On the first floor, on the north side, was a long gallery, out of which twelve handsome rooms opened all exactly alike.
There was a similar gallery on the second floor, but with twenty-four smaller rooms, also resembling one another. All these apartments were empty, dilapidated, wretched to look at.
Above, there was nothing. The attics had been burnt down.
For an hour, Lupin walked, ran, rushed about indefatigably, with his eyes on the look-out.
When it began to grow dusk, he hurried to one of his twelve rooms on the first floor, as if he were selecting it for special reasons known to himself alone. He was rather surprised to find the Emperor there, smoking and seated in an arm-chair which he had sent for.