CHAPTER VII. SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS, VOLUME VIII
Two lodges, belonging to the same old-time period as the house itself, stood at the extreme right and left of the low wall that separated the front courtyard from the Place du Palais-Bourbon. These lodges were joined to the main building, situated at the back of the courtyard, by a series of outhouses. On one side were the coach-houses, stables, harness-rooms, and garage, with the porter's lodge at the end; on the other side, the wash-houses, kitchens, and offices, ending in the lodge occupied by Mlle. Levasseur.
This lodge had only a ground floor, consisting of a dark entrance hall
and one large room, most of which served as a sitting-room, while the
rest, arranged as a bedroom, was really only a sort of alcove. A curtain
hid the bed and wash-hand-stand. There were two windows looking out on
the Place du Palais-Bourbon.
It was the first time that Don Luis had set foot in Mlle. Levasseur's
room. Engrossed though he was with other matters, he felt its charm. It
was very simply furnished: some old mahogany chairs and armchairs, a
plain, Empire writing-table, a round table with one heavy, massive leg, and some book-shelves. But the bright colour of the linen curtains enlivened the room. On the walls hung reproductions of famous pictures, drawings of sunny buildings and landscapes, Italian villas, Sicilian temples....
The girl remained standing. She had resumed her composure, and her face
had taken on the enigmatical expression so difficult to fathom, especially as she had assumed a deliberate air of dejection, which Perenna guessed was intended to hide her excitement and alertness, together with the tumultuous feelings which even she had great difficulty in controlling.
Her eyes looked neither timorous nor defiant. It really seemed as though
she had nothing to fear from the explanation.
Don Luis kept silent for some little time. It was strange and it annoyed
him to feel it, but he experienced a certain embarrassment in the
presence of this woman, against whom he was inwardly bringing the most
serious charges. And, not daring to put them into words, not daring to
say plainly what he thought, he began:
"You know what happened in this house this morning?"
"This morning?"
"Yes, when I had finished speaking on the telephone."
"I know now. I heard it from the servants, from the butler."
"Not before?"
"How could I have known earlier?"
She was lying. It was impossible that she should be speaking the truth. And yet in what a calm voice she had replied!
He went on:
"I will tell you, in a few words, what happened. I was leaving the
telephone box, when the iron curtain, concealed in the upper part of
the wall, fell in front of me. After making sure that there was nothing
to be done, I simply resolved, as I had the telephone by me, to call in
the assistance of one of my friends. I rang up Major d'Astrignac. He
came at once and, with the help of the butler, let me out. Is that what
you heard?"
"Yes, Monsieur. I had gone to my room, which explains why I knew nothing
of the incident or of Major d'Astrignac's visit."
"Very well. It appears, however, from what I learned when I was released, that the butler and, for that matter, everybody in the house, including yourself, knew of the existence of that iron curtain."
"Certainly."
"And how did you know it?"
"Through Baron Malonyi. He told me that, during the Revolution, his
great-grandmother, on the mother's side, who then occupied this house and
whose husband was guillotined, remained hidden in that recess for
thirteen months. At that time the curtain was covered with woodwork
similar to that of the room."
"It's a pity that I wasn't informed of it, for, after all, I was very
nearly crushed to death."
This possibility did not seem to move the girl. She said:
"It would be a good thing to look at the mechanism and see why it became
unfastened. It's all very old and works badly."
"The mechanism works perfectly. I tested it. An accident is not enough to
account for it."
"Who could have done it, if it was not an accident?"
"Some enemy whom I am unable to name."
"He would have been seen."
"There was only one person who could have seen him--yourself. You
happened to pass through my study as I was telephoning and I heard your
exclamation of fright at the news about Mme. Fauville."