It was a bower--half room, half garden.
The walls were one mass of climbing flowers.

The open spaces, which we call windows, and in which, here, the metallic surfaces were slided back, commanded various views; some, of the wide landscape with its lakes and rocks; some, of small limited expanses answering to our conservatories, filled with tiers of flowers.

Along the sides of the room were flower-beds, interspersed with cushions for repose.

In the centre of the floor was a cistern and a fountain of that liquid light which I have presumed to be naphtha.

It was luminous and of a roseate hue; it sufficed without lamps to light up the room with a subdued radiance.