High-backed chairs and enormous armchairs, dating from the time of Louis
XIII; more modern sofas, which had been made to harmonize with the older
furniture, filled the room. They were covered with flowered tapestry in
thousands of shades, which must have busied the white hands of the ladies
of the house for two or three generations past.

The row of portraits was interrupted on one side by a large fireplace of
grayish granite, which was too high for one to hang a mirror above or to
place ornaments upon its mantel. Opposite was an ebony console inlaid
with ivory, upon which was placed one of those elegant clocks whose
delicate and original chased work has not been eclipsed by any modern
workmanship. Two large Japanese vases accompanied it; the whole was
reflected in an antique mirror which hung above the console; its edges
were bevelled, doubtless in order to cause one to admire the thickness of
the glass.

It would be impossible to imagine a stronger contrast than that of this
Gothic room with the lady in the rose-colored gown who had just entered
it so precipitately. The fire upon the hearth threw a warm light over
the old portraits, and it was heightened by the heavy, red damask
curtains which hung by the windows. The light sometimes softened,
sometimes revivified by some sudden flash of the flames, glanced over the
scowling faces and red beards, enlivening the eyes and giving a
supernatural animation to those lifeless canvases. One would have said
that the cold, grave faces looked with curiosity at the young woman with
graceful movements and cool garments, whom Aladdin's genii seemed to have
transported from the most elegant boudoir on the Chaussee d'Antin, and
thrown, still frightened, into the midst of this strange assembly.

"You are crazy, Clemence, to leave that window open!" said at this