Little Pierre . ricken at the horrible noisethe rats were making overhead, I started back andhurriedly retreated into Melanies room. This didnot prevent my telling her all the things I had seenthrough the keyhole. I saw, I said, human limbs as pale as were millions of them—it was frightful. Isaw skeletons dancing round in a circle, and a mon-key blowing a trumpet—it was frightful. I sawseven women. They were very beautiful and woredresses of gold and silver, and cloaks the same colouras the sun and the moon and the weather. Theywere hanging with their throats cut, all along thewall
Little Pierre . ricken at the horrible noisethe rats were making overhead, I started back andhurriedly retreated into Melanies room. This didnot prevent my telling her all the things I had seenthrough the keyhole. I saw, I said, human limbs as pale as were millions of them—it was frightful. Isaw skeletons dancing round in a circle, and a mon-key blowing a trumpet—it was frightful. I sawseven women. They were very beautiful and woredresses of gold and silver, and cloaks the same colouras the sun and the moon and the weather. Theywere hanging with their throats cut, all along thewall, and their blood was flowing in torrents overthe white marble floor. I was thinking what else to say I had seen, whenMelanie asked me, ironically, if I had really seen allthose things in so short a time. I expunged theladies and the skeletons from the indictment; possi-bly I had not seen them very plainly. But I stuckto it that I had seen the human limbs as pale asdeath. And perhaps I really believed I CHAPTER XVI SHE LAID HER HAND ON MY HEAD MORIN had a full-blown faceand big lips, which, curving up-wards at each corner, joined com-pany with a pair of pepper andsalt whiskers. His eyes, his nose,his mouth, all his broad, opencountenance seemed, literally, to breathe was simple in his dress, meticulously clean, andsmelt of primrose soap. M. Morin was neitheryoung nor old, and, if he was in the position of theman in the story whose two lady admirers wished tomake him match their respective ages, it was cer-tainly Madame Morin, his wife, who pulled out hisdark hairs, for she seemed older than he. Her man-ners also were superior, and she bore herself withmuch elegance for a woman of her station. But Idid not like her because she was sad. Madame Morin was concierge at a house nearours, which also belonged to M. Bellaguet, and sheperformed the duties of the porters lodge with anair of melancholy distinction. Her pale, witheredfeatures might well have belonged
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