There were knick-knacks on little tables, mirrors let into the wall above marble consoles, square spaces of carpet under the two groups of armchairs, each presided over by a deep sofa; smaller rugs scattered all over the floor of red tiles; three windows from the ceiling down to the ground, opening on a balcony, and flanked by the perpendicular folds of the dark hangings.

The stateliness of ancient days lingered between the four high, smooth walls, tinted a delicate primrose-colour; and Mrs.Gould, with her little head and shining coils of hair, sitting in a cloud of muslin and lace before a slender mahogany table, resembled a fairy posed lightly before dainty philtres dispensed out of vessels of silver and porcelain.
Mrs.Gould knew the history of the San Tome mine.

Worked in the early days mostly by means of lashes on the backs of slaves, its yield had been paid for in its own weight of human bones.

Whole tribes of Indians had perished in the exploitation; and then the mine was abandoned, since with this primitive method it had ceased to make a profitable return, no matter how many corpses were thrown into its maw.

Then it became forgotten.