still greater attention than he had done before. He was now most
forcibly struck by his eyes, of a slightly turbid gray, whose
glances, vague, unsteady, indiscernible, became at moments cold and
dull as lead. Never had M. Leminof been so amiable to his
secretary; he spoke to him playfully, and looked at him with an
expression of charming good nature. They had conversed for a
quarter of an hour when the sound of a bell gave notice that dinner
was served. Count Kostia conducted Gilbert to the dining-room. It
was an immense vaulted apartment, wainscoted in black oak, and
lighted by three small ogive windows, looking out upon the terrace.
The arches of the ceiling were covered with old apocalyptic
paintings, which time had molded and scaled off. In the center
could be seen the Lamb with seven horns seated on his throne; and
round about him the four-and-twenty elders clothed in white. On
the lower parts of the pendentive the paintings were so much
damaged that the subjects were hardly recognizable. Here and there
could be seen wings of angels, trumpets, arms which had lost their
hands, busts from which the head had disappeared, crowns, stars,
horses' manes, and dragons' tails. These gloomy relics sometimes
formed combinations that were mysterious and ominous. It was a
strange decoration for a dining-hall.

At this hour of the day, the three arched windows gave but a dull
and scanty light; and more was supplied by three bronze lamps,
suspended from the ceiling by iron chains; even their brilliant
flames were hardly sufficient to light up the depths of this
cavernous hall. Below the three lamps was spread a long table,
where twenty guests might easily find room; at one of the rounded
ends of this table, three covers and three morocco chairs had been
arranged in a semi-circle; at the other end, a solitary cover was