of Madame Lucrèce? I will tell you her story when we get inside the house. But here is some more of the devil's work! I don't know what has got into this key, it won't turn. Try it yourself."
It was a long time, in fact, since the lock and the key had seen anything of each other. Still, by dint of thrice gritting my teeth very hard and indulging in profanity a similar number of times, I succeeded in turning the key in the lock, but I tore my yellow gloves and sprained the palm of my hand. We entered a dark passage-way which afforded access to several low apartments.
The ceilings, intricately paneled, were covered with spiders' webs, beneath which some traces of gilding were with difficulty to be distinguished. The smell of mold that exhaled from all the rooms demonstrated conclusively that they had been untenanted for a very long time. Not an article of furniture was to be seen. Some strips of old leather were hanging in streamers from the sweating walls. I judged from the carvings on some brackets and the shape of the chimney-pieces that the house dated back to the fifteenth century, and it is likely that in former days its decorations had had some pretensions to elegance. The windows, with very small panes, most of them broken, had an outlook on the garden, where I distinguished a rose tree in bloom, together with some fruit trees and an abundance of broccoli.
When I had inspected all the apartments of the rez-de-chaussée I ascended to the floor above, where I had seen my fair unknown. The old woman endeavored to prevent me, saying that there was nothing to be seen there and that the staircase was in very
