These consisted of an ante-room, a small drawing-room, and her private apartments beyond.
Paul stopped in the drawing-room, looking round with a simple satisfaction in all that had been done by his orders for Etta's comfort.
"These," he said, "are your rooms." He was no adept at turning a neat phrase--at reeling off a pretty honeymoon welcome.

Perhaps he expected her to express delight, to come to him, possibly, and kiss him, as some women would have done.
She looked round critically.
"Yes," she said, "they are very nice." She crossed the room and drew aside the curtain that covered the double-latticed windows.

The room was so warm that there was no rime on the panes.

She gave a little shudder, and he went to her side, putting his strong, quiet arm around her.
Below them, stretching away beneath the brilliant moonlight, lay the country that was his inheritance, an estate as large as a large English county.

Immediately beneath them, at the foot of the great rock upon which the castle was built, nestled the village of Osterno--straggling, squalid.
"Oh!" she said dully, "this is Siberia; this is terrible!" It had never presented itself to him in that light, the wonderful stretch of country over which they were looking.
"It is not so bad," he said, "in the daylight." And that was all; for he had no persuasive tongue.
"That is the village," he went on, after a little pause.