At that moment he too opened the door below. The shrieks of the
howling mob once more resounded close to her ears. It seemed as if
they had surrounded him. She wondered what was happening, and
marvelled how he dared to face that awful crowd alone.

The room into which she had entered was gay and cheerful-looking with
its dainty chintz hangings and graceful, elegant pieces of furniture.
The young girl looked up, as a kindly voice said to her, from out the
depths of a capacious armchair:

"Come in, come in, my dear, and close the door behind you! Did those
wretches attack you? Never mind. Paul will speak to them. Come here,
my dear, and sit down; there's no cause now for fear."

Without a word the young girl came forward. She seemed now to be
walking in a dream, the chintz hangings to be swaying ghostlike around
her, the yells and shrieks below to come from the very bowels of the
earth.

The old lady continued to prattle on. She had taken the girl's hand
in hers, and was gently forcing her down on to a low stool beside her
armchair. She was talking about Paul, and said something about Anne
Mie, and then about the National Convention, and those beasts and
savages, but mostly about Paul.

The noise outside had subsided. The girl felt strangely sick and
tired. Her head seemed to be whirling round, the furniture to be
dancing round her; the old lady's face looked at her through a swaying
veil, and then--and then...