Prudence rang.

The piano was silent.

A woman who looked more like a companion than a servant opened the door.
We went into the drawing-room, and from that to the boudoir, which was then just as you have seen it since.

A young man was leaning against the mantel-piece.

Marguerite, seated at the piano, let her fingers wander over the notes, beginning scraps of music without finishing them.