The room had, in fact, been entirely done up and refurnished by my uncle, and was as bright and modern-looking an apartment as you could wish to see.  It was large, and the walls were covered with one of those white and gold papers which were fashionable thirty years ago.  Opposite us, as we stood warming our backs before the fire, was the bed—­a large double one, hung with a pretty shade of pale blue.  Material of the same color covered the comfortable modern furniture, and hung from gilded cornices before the two windows which pierced the side of the room on our left.  Between them stood the toilet-table, all muslin, blue ribbons, and silver.  The carpet was a gray and blue Brussels one.  The whole effect was cheerful, though I fear inartistic, and sadly out of keeping with the character of the house.  The exception to these remarks was, as I had observed, the famous closed cabinet, to which I have more than once alluded.  It stood against the same wall of the room as that in which the fireplace was, and on our right—­that is, on that side of the fireplace which was farthest from the windows.  As I spoke, I turned to go and look at it, and Lucy followed me.  Many an hour as a child had I passed in front of it, fingering the seven carved brass handles, or rather buttons, which were ranged down its center.  They all slid, twisted, or screwed with the greatest ease, and apparently like many another ingeniously contrived lock; but neither I nor any one else had ever yet succeeded in sliding, twisting, or screwing them after such a fashion as to open the closed doors of the cabinet.  No one yet had robbed them of their secret since first it was placed there three hundred years ago by the old lady and her faithful Italian.  It was a beautiful piece of workmanship, was this tantalizing cabinet.  Carved out of some dark foreign wood, the doors and panels were richly inlaid with lapis-lazuli, ivory, and mother-of-pearl, among which were twisted delicately chased threads of gold and silver.  Above the doors, between them and the cornice, lay another mystery, fully as tormenting as was the first.  In a smooth strip of wood about an inch wide, and extending along the whole breadth of the cabinet, was inlaid a fine pattern in gold wire.  This at first sight seemed to consist of a legend or motto.  On looking closer, however, though the pattern still looked as if it was formed out of characters of the alphabet curiously entwined together, you found yourself unable to fix upon any definite word, or even letter.  You looked again and again, and the longer that you looked the more certain became your belief that you were on the verge of discovery.  If you could approach the mysterious legend from a slightly different point of view, or look at it from another distance, the clew to the puzzle would be seized, and the words would stand forth clear and legible in your sight.  But the clew never had been discovered, and the motto, if there was one, remained unread.