Startled by this circumstance, he looked around, and perceived that the trap-door,—which has been mentioned as communicating with a secret staircase,—was open. I've no doubt he's as honest as either of you. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.
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