feet in length, and in this a small fire was smouldering. In the
centre of the room was a long, massive table, its timber carved by
the axe, and on this a lamp was burning. The floor was strewn with
fur rugs, and on the walls hung the mounted heads of beasts. These
things impressed themselves upon Philip first. It was as if he had
stepped suddenly out of the world in which he was living into the
ancient hall of a wild and half-savage thane whose bones had
turned to dust centuries ago.

Not until Jean spoke to him, and led the way through the room, was
this first impression swept back by his swift and closer
observation of detail. About him extreme age was curiously blended
with the modern. His breath stopped short when he saw in the
shadow of the farther wall a piano, with a bronze lamp suspended
from the ceiling above it. His eyes caught the shadowy outline of
cases filled with books; he saw close to the fireplace wide, low-
built divans covered with cushions; and over the door through
which they passed hung a framed copy of da Vinci's masterpiece,
"La Joconde," the Smiling Woman.

Into a dimly lighted hall he followed Jean, who paused a moment
later before another door, which he opened. Philip waited while he
struck a match and lighted a lamp. He knew at a glance that this
was to be his sleeping apartment, and as he took in its ample
comfort, the broad low bed behind its old-fashioned curtains, the
easy chairs, the small table covered with books and magazines, and
the richly furred rugs on the floor, he experienced a new and
strange feeling of restfulness and pleasure which for the moment
overshadowed his more excited sensations. Jean was already on his
knees before a fireplace touching a match to a pile of birch, and