The recollection of the mirror and of the necklace and of the comb recurs to him vaguely; but he does not believe in it, and in this singular vision reality alone seems to him a dream . . .
“Come,” says Chrysis. “Follow me.”
He follows her. She slowly mounts a staircase strewn with white skins. Her arm rests upon the rail. Her naked heels float in and out from under her robe.
The house has but one storey. Chrysis halts at the topmost step.
“There are four chambers,” she says.
“When you have seen them, you will never leave them. Will you follow me? Have you confidence?”
A monstrous iris-flower reaches to the level of her lips.
But he will follow her everywhere. She opens the first door and closes it behind him.
This room is long and narrow. It is lighted by a single window, through which is seen enframed the great expanse of sea. On the right and left are two small tables and on them a dozen book-rolls.