A moment later he saw Justine and Mademoiselle de Corandeuil’s maid starting off, arm in arm, as if they were going for a promenade.  Finally, he had hardly written half a page, when he noticed Aline opposite his window, with a straw hat upon her head and a watering-pot in her hand.  A servant carried a bucket of water and placed it near a mass of dahlias, which the young girl had taken under her protection, and she at once set about her work with great zeal.

“Now,” said Gerfaut, “let us see whether the place is approachable.”  And closing his desk, he stealthily descended the stairs.

After crossing the vestibule on the first floor, and a small gallery decorated with commonplace pictures, he found himself at the library door.  Thanks to the genealogical tree which he had promised to compile, he possessed a key to this room, which was not usually open.  By dint of preaching about the danger in certain reading for young girls, Mademoiselle de Corandeuil had caused this system of locking-up, especially designed to preserve Aline from the temptation of opening certain novels which the old lady rejected en masse.  “Young girls did not read novels in 1780,” she would say.  This put an end to all discussion and cut short the protestations of the young girl, who was brought up exclusively upon a diet of Le Ragois and Mentelle’s geography, and such solid mental food.

Several large books and numerous manuscripts were spread out upon the table in the library, together with a wide sheet of Holland paper, upon which was sketched the family tree of the Bergenheims.  Instead of going to work, however, Gerfaut locked the door, and then went across the room and pressed a little knob which opened a small door no one would have noticed at first.

Leather bands representing the binding of books, like those which covered the rest of the walls, made it necessary for one to be informed of the existence of this secret exit in order to distinguish it from the rest of the room.  This door had had a singular attraction for Gerfaut ever since the day he first discovered it.  After silently opening it, he found himself in a small passage at the end of which was a small spiral staircase leading to the floor above.  A cat creeping to surprise a bird asleep could not have walked more stealthily than he, as he mounted the stairs.

When he crossed the last step, he found himself in a small room, filled with wardrobes, lighted by a small glass door covered with a muslin curtain.  This door opened into a little parlor which separated Madame de Bergenheim’s private sitting-room from her sleeping-apartment.  The only window was opposite the closet and occupied almost the whole of the woodwork, the rest of which was hung with pearl-gray stuff with lilac figures upon it.  A broad, low divan, covered with the same material as the hanging, occupied the space in front of the window.  It was the only piece of furniture, and it seemed almost impossible to introduce even one chair more.