At the end of the passage-way Gaspard opened another door, and then, motioning with his hand, bowed respectfully for the third time.
Oliver passed through the door-way, and it was as though he had stepped from the threshhold of one world into another. Never in his life had he seen anything like that world. He turned his head this way and that, looking about him in dumb bewilderment. In confused perception he saw white and gold panels, twinkling lights, tapestried furniture, inlaid cabinets glittering with glass and china, painted screens whereon shepherds and shepherdesses piped and danced, and white-wigged ladies and gentlemen bowed and postured. A black satin mask, a painted fan, and a slender glove lay upon the blue damask upholstery of a white and gold sofa that stood against the wall—the mask, the fan, and the glove of a fine lady. But all these things Oliver saw only in the moment of passing, for Gaspard led the way directly up the long room with a step silent as that of a cat. A heavy green silk curtain hung in the door-way. Gaspard drew it aside, and Oliver, still as in a dream, passed through and found himself in a small room crowded with rare books, porcelains, crystals, and what not.
"'GOOD-DAY, MONSIEUR,' SAID A FAMILIAR VOICE."
But he had no sight for them; for in front of a glowing fire, protected by a square screen exquisitely painted, and reclining in the midst of cushions on a tapestried sofa, clad in a loose, richly-embroidered, quilted dressing-robe, his white hand holding a book, between the leaves of which his finger was thrust, his smiling face turned towards Oliver—sat the master.
As Oliver entered past the bowing Gaspard, he tossed the book aside upon the table, and sprang to his feet.
"Ah, Oliver, my dear child!" he cried. "Is it then thou again? Embrace me!" and he took the limp Oliver into his arms. "Where hast thou been?" And he drew back and looked into Oliver's face.
"I do not know," croaked Oliver, helplessly.
"Ah! Thou hast been gone a long time. Thou art hungry?"
"I was," said Oliver, wretchedly; "but I am not hungry now."
"Nay," said the other; "thou must be hungry. See! Another little supper;" and he motioned with his hand.
Oliver had not noticed it before, but there was a table spread with a white damask cloth, and with chairs placed for two.
"Let Gaspard show you to your apartment, where you may wash and refresh yourself, and by that time the little supper will be ready."
Oliver wondered what all this meant. He could scarcely believe that the smooth-spoken master and the quiet and well-trained serving-man were the same two as those white-faced demons who had grinned and gnashed at him across the blood-red line drawn around the door-way yonder, and yet he could not doubt it.
The supper was over, and the master, with his fingers locked around his glass, leaned across the table towards Oliver, who, after all, had made a good meal of it.
"THE QUESTION WAS SO SUDDEN AND SO STARTLING THAT OLIVER SANK BACK IN HIS SEAT."
"And those bottles of water," said he. "Did we then bring them with us from that place down yonder?" He jerked his head over his shoulder.
The question was so sudden and so startling that Oliver sank back in his seat, with all the strength gone out of his back—and he was just beginning to feel more easy. He could not speak a word in answer, but he nodded his head.
"Then give them to me," said the other, sharply. And Oliver saw the delicate pointed fingers hook in spite of themselves.
But Oliver was no longer the Oliver that had sat on the bench in front of the inn at Flourens that little while ago; he had passed through much of late, he had gained wisdom, shrewdness, cunning. Instead of helplessly handing the two phials over to the other, as he might have done a few hours before, he suddenly pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet. Not far from him was a window that looked out upon the street; he stepped quickly to it, and flung it open. "Look!" he cried, in a ringing voice. "I know you now—you and your servant. You are devils! You are stronger than I, but I have some power." He drew forth the two bottles from his pocket. "See!" said he, "here is what you have set your soul upon, and for which you desired to kill me. Without you promise me all that I ask, I will fling them both out upon the pavement beneath. And what then? They will be broken, and the water will run down into the gutter and be gone."
There was a moment of dead silence, during which Oliver stood by the open window with the two phials in his hand, and the master sat looking smilingly at him. After a while the smile broke into a laugh.
"Come, Oliver," said he, "you have learned much since I first saw you at Flourens. You are grand in your heroics. What, then, would you have of me, that you thus threaten?"
Oliver thought for a moment. "I would have you let me go from here safe and sound," said he.
"Very good," said the other. "And what else?"
"That you promise I shall suffer no harm either from you or your servant Gaspard."
"Very good. And what else?"
"That you tell me the secret of that dreadful place where I have been."
"Very good. And what else?"
"That you show me the virtue of this water."
"Very good. And what else?"
"That you let me have half the gain that is to be had from it."
"Very good. And what else?"
Oliver thought for a moment or two. "Why this!" said he; "that you tell me why you sought me out at Flourens, and how you knew that I had escaped from that pit into which you had locked me."
"Very good. And what else?"
Oliver thought for another little while. "Nothing else," said he at last.
Once more the other laughed. "If I refuse," said he, "you throw those bottles out of the window?"
Oliver nodded.
"And you know what would then happen?"
Oliver nodded again.
"And if I promise," said he, "what then?"
"I will give to you those bottles that you seek," said Oliver.
"But what shall I promise by? My honor?"
Oliver shook his head.
The other laughed. "Do you not trust that?" said he. "No? By what, then, shall I promise?"
A sudden flash of recollection passed through Oliver's mind, a sudden inspiration came to him. "Promise by this," he cried, in a ringing voice— Symbol.
and he drew the figure which he had seen depicted upon the red line around the door-way at the bottom of the stone steps—the line that had kept back Gaspard and his master like a wall of adamant. The other's face grew as black as thunder. There was a sharp click—he had crushed the glass in his hand to fragments. A drop of blood fell from his palm upon the table-cloth, but he did not seem to notice it.
"Promise by that?" said he, a little hoarsely.
"Yes," said Oliver; "by that sign."
The other swallowed as though a hard lump were in his throat. "Very well," said he; "I promise."
Oliver saw that the promise would be kept. He closed the window near to which he stood. When he turned around, the other's face was smooth and smiling again.
"And now sit down," said he, "and let us finish our little supper, then I will tell you the story of those rooms yonder, and of the dead lady whom you found there."