The inner door flapped and creaked on its hinges.

I thought of other days and of meals I had taken there, and of the scent of flowers; and I fled to the hall in despair.
But here, too, were no signs of life or company, no comfort, no attendance.

The ashes of the logs, by whose blaze Mademoiselle had told me the secret, lay on the hearth white and cold fit emblem of the change that had taken place; and now and then a drop of moisture, sliding down the great chimney, pattered among them.

The main door stood open, as if the house had no longer anything to guard.

The only living thing to be seen was a hound which roamed about restlessly, now gazing at the empty hearth now lying down with pricked cars and watchful eyes.