Rotten woodwork, two loose bricks. The plaster gave way and an opening
appeared as large as my hand, but invisible from below, because of the
moulding.

I looked. I beheld. The next room presented itself to my sight
freely.

It spread out before me, this room which was not mine. The voice that
had been singing had gone, and in going had left the door open, and it
almost seemed as though the door were still swinging on its hinges.
There was nothing in the room but a lighted candle, which trembled on
the mantelpiece.

At that distance the table looked like an island, the bluish and
reddish pieces of furniture, in their vague outline, like the organs of
a body almost alive.

I looked at the wardrobe. Bright, confused lines going straight up,
its feet in darkness. The ceiling, the reflection of the ceiling in
the glass, and the pale window like a human face against the sky.

I returned to my room--as if I had really left it--stunned at first, my
thoughts in a whirl, almost forgetting who I was.

I sat down on my bed, thinking things over quickly and trembling a
little, oppressed by what was to come.

I dominated, I possessed that room. My eyes entered it. I was in it.
All who would be there would be there with me without knowing it. I
should see them, I should hear them, I should be as much in their