He went up to the blue room, where he found Joab packing his portmanteau.

A few peremptory words sent the man to the stables, while his master with rapid fingers collected and laid together the papers with which the room was strewn.

The task finished, he threw himself for a moment into the great chair and looked about him.

He was capable of great attachment to place, and he had loved this room.

Now the mandarin smiled obliquely on him, and the moon-clock ticked the passing moments, the impossible blue roses flowered on thornless stems, and the picture of Washington looked calmly down from the opposite wall.