"Where are you off to, Veroshka?"

She stood still a moment, her hand on the latch of the nearest door, and
he had only just time to follow her before she vanished. Dark,
smoke-stained reception rooms adjoined the hall. In one were two ghostly
figures of shrouded statues and shrouded candelabra; by the walls were
ranged dark stained oak pieces of furniture with brass decorations and
inlaid work; there were huge Chinese vases, a clock representing Bacchus
with a barrel, and great oval mirrors in elaborate gilded frames. In the
bedroom stood an enormous bed, like a magnificent bier, with a brocade
cover. Boris could not imagine how any human being could sleep in such a
catafalque. Under the baldachin hovered a gilded Cupid, spotted and
faded, with his arrow aimed at the bed. In the corners stood carved
cupboards, damascened with ebony and mother-of-pearl. Veroshka opened a
press and put her little face inside, and a musty, dusty smell came from
the shelves, laden with old-fashioned caftans and embroidered uniforms
with big buttons.

Raisky shivered. "Granny was right!" he laughed. "It is uncanny here."

"But everything here is so beautiful!" cried Vera, "the great pictures
and the books!"

"Pictures? Books? Where? I don't remember. Bravo, little Veroshka."

He kissed her. She wiped her lips, and ran on in front to show him the
books. He found some two thousand volumes, and was soon absorbed in
reading the titles; many of the books were still uncut.