His heart beat thickly; the incense of this sacred inner life, with its faint suggestion of dead rose-leaves, filled him with a voluptuous languor; his breath was lost, as if a soft kiss had taken it away; his senses swam in the light mist that seemed to suffuse everything.

His step trembled as she suddenly turned aside, and, opening a door, ushered him into a small vaulted chamber.
In the first glance it seemed to be an oratory or chapel.

A large gold and ebony crucifix hung on the wall.

There was a prie-dieu of heavy dark mahogany in the centre of the tiled floor; there was a low ottoman or couch, covered with a mantle of dark violet velvet, like a pall; there were two quaintly carved stiff chairs; a religious, almost ascetic, air pervaded the apartment; but no dreamy eastern seraglio could have affected him with an intoxication so profoundly and mysteriously sensuous.
Maruja pointed to a chair, and then, with a peculiarly feminine movement, placed herself sideways upon the ottoman, half reclining on her elbow on a high cushion, her deep billowy flounces partly veiling the funereal velvet below.

Her oval face was pale and melancholy, her eyes moist as if with recent tears; an expression as of troubled passion lurked in their depths and in the corners of her mouth.
Scarcely knowing why, Carroll fancied that thus she might appear if she were in love; and the daring thought made him tremble.
"I wanted to speak with you alone," she said, gently, as if in explanation; "but don't look at me so.