He was surprised, but agreeably so, that he was admitted, for the first time, into that private sanctum which bears the hackneyed title of boudoir.

But there was little enough of the fine lady's boudoir in the simple morning-room of Madame de Ventadour.

It was a lofty apartment, stored with books, and furnished, not without claim to grace, but with very small attention to luxury.
Valerie was not there, and Maltravers, left alone, after a hasty glance around the chamber, leaned abstractedly against the wall, and forgot, alas! all the admonitions of Cleveland.

In a few moments the door opened, and Valerie entered.

She was unusually pale, and Maltravers thought her eyelids betrayed the traces of tears.