How mean the _cremery_ and its patrons seemed now that she was gone! The
great clamp at the portal of his hotel sounded very ghostly as he
knocked; the concierge was a hideous old man in gown and nightcap.
"_Toujours seul, monsieur_," he said, with an ugly grin.
"What does that mean, Terrapin?" said Ralph.
"He says that you always come home alone."
"How else should I come?" said Ralph, dubiously.
"How, indeed?" answered Terrapin.
It was without doubt a dim old pile--the Hotel du Hibou. What murderers,
and thieves, and Jacobins might not have ascended the tiles of the grand
stairway? There was a cumbrous mantel in his chamber, funereal with
griffins, and there were portraits with horribly profound eyes. The sofa
and the chairs were huge; the deep window-hangings were talking together
in a rustling, mocking way; while the bed in its black recess seemed so
very long and broad and high for one person, that Ralph sat down at the
stone table, too lonely or too haunted to sleep.
Would not even this old grave be made merry with sunlight, if little
Suzette were here?
He opened the book of familiar French phrases, and began to copy some of
them. He worked feverishly, determinedly, for quite a time. Then he read
the list he had made, half aloud.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
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98
99
100
101
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103
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