company as though the door were open.

. . . . .

A moment later I raised my face to the hole and looked again.

The candle was out, but some one was there. It was the maid. No doubt
she had come in to put the room in order. Then she paused.

She was alone. She was quite near me. But I did not very well see the
living being who was moving about, perhaps because I was dazzled by
seeing it so truly--a dark blue apron, falling down from her waist like
rays of evening, white wrists, hands darker than her wrists from toil,
a face undecided yet striking, eyes hidden yet shining, cheeks
prominent and clear, a knot on top of her head gleaming like a crown.

A short time before I had seen the girl on the staircase bending over
cleaning the banisters, her reddened face close to her large hands. I
had found her repulsive because of those blackened hands of hers and
the dusty chores that she stooped over. I had also seen her in a
hallway walking ahead of me heavily, her hair hanging loose and her
body giving out an unpleasant odour, so that you felt it was obnoxious
and wrapped in dirty underwear.

. . . . .

And now I looked at her again. The evening gently dispelled the
ugliness, wiped out the misery and the horror, changed the dust into
shadow, like a curse turned into a blessing. All that remained of her
was colour, a mist, an outline; not even that; a thrill and the beating