‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. ‘I do not understand you. Well, kill me. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it.
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