The sisters listened to Trirodov as they walked, pausing often to
admire the beauties of the garden--its trees, lawns, ponds, islands,
its quietly murmuring fountains, its picturesque arbours, its
profusely gay flower-beds. They felt a keen elation at having
penetrated this mysterious house--they were as happy as schoolgirls at
the thought of having infringed the commonly accepted rules of good
society in coming here.

As they entered one room of the house Elena exclaimed:

"What a strange room!"

"A magic room," said Trirodov with a smile.

It was indeed a strange room--everything in it had an odd shape: the
ceiling sloped, the floor was concave, the corners were round, upon
the walls were incomprehensible pictures and unfamiliar hieroglyphics.
In one corner was a dark, flat object in a carved frame of black wood.

"It's a mirror in which it is interesting to take a look at oneself,"
said Trirodov. "Only you have to stand in that triangle close to the
wall, near the corner."

The sisters went there and glanced in the mirror: two old wrinkled
faces were reflected in it. Elena cried out in fright. Elisaveta,
growing pale, turned towards her sister and smiled.

"Don't be afraid," she said, "it's a trick of some sort."

Elena looked at her and cried out in horror: