"Now," said Gerfaut, "let us see whether the place is approachable." And
closing his desk, he stealthily descended the stairs.

After crossing the vestibule on the first floor, and a small gallery
decorated with commonplace pictures, he found himself at the library
door. Thanks to the genealogical tree which he had promised to compile,
he possessed a key to this room, which was not usually open. By dint of
preaching about the danger in certain reading for young girls,
Mademoiselle de Corandeuil had caused this system of locking-up,
especially designed to preserve Aline from the temptation of opening
certain novels which the old lady rejected en masse. "Young girls did
not read novels in 1780," she would say. This put an end to all
discussion and cut short the protestations of the young girl, who was
brought up exclusively upon a diet of Le Ragois and Mentelle's geography,
and such solid mental food.

Several large books and numerous manuscripts were spread out upon the
table in the library, together with a wide sheet of Holland paper, upon
which was sketched the family tree of the Bergenheims. Instead of going
to work, however, Gerfaut locked the door, and then went across the room
and pressed a little knob which opened a small door no one would have
noticed at first.

Leather bands representing the binding of books, like those which covered
the rest of the walls, made it necessary for one to be informed of the
existence of this secret exit in order to distinguish it from the rest of
the room. This door had had a singular attraction for Gerfaut ever since
the day he first discovered it. After silently opening it, he found
himself in a small passage at the end of which was a small spiral
staircase leading to the floor above. A cat creeping to surprise a bird