She opened the door of the first room at the head of the stairs.

It had once been the apartment of some servitor; now it contained furniture of the gorgeous days of Louis XIV., with all the colour gone from its tapestry, all the woodwork grey and worm-eaten.
"Not that one," said Marie, as the Abbe struggled with the lever that fastened the window.

"That one has not been opened for many years.

See! the glass rattles in the frame.

It is the other that opens." Without comment the Abbe opened the other window and threw back the shutters, from which all the paint had peeled away, and let in the scented air.