The Witch of Prague | Page 9

its massive, irregular walls, behind those
uncouth, barbarously sculptured saints who kept their interminable
watch high up by the lozenged windows. He would know now. Since
she whom he sought had entered, he would enter too; and in some
corner of that dwelling which had long possessed a mysterious

attraction for his eyes, he would find at last that being who held power
over his heart, that Beatrice whom he had learned to think of as dead,
while still believing that somewhere she must be yet alive, that dear
lady whom, dead or living, he loved beyond all others, with a great love,
passing words.

CHAPTER II
The Wanderer stood still before the door. In the freezing air, his
quick-drawn breath made fantastic wreaths of mist, white and full of
odd shapes as he watched the tiny clouds curling quickly into each
other before the blackened oak. Then he laid his hand boldly upon the
chain of the bell. He expected to hear the harsh jingling of cracked
metal, but he was surprised by the silvery clearness and musical quality
of the ringing tones which reached his ear. He was pleased, and
unconsciously took the pleasant infusion for a favourable omen. The
heavy door swung back almost immediately, and he was confronted by
a tall porter in dark green cloth and gold lacings, whose imposing
appearance was made still more striking by the magnificent fair beard
which flowed down almost to his waist. The man lifted his heavy
cocked hat and held it low at his side as he drew back to let the visitor
enter. The latter had not expected to be admitted thus without question,
and paused under the bright light which illuminated the arched entrance,
intending to make some inquiry of the porter. But the latter seemed to
expect nothing of the sort. He carefully closed the door, and then,
bearing his hat in one hand and his gold-headed staff in the other, he
proceeded gravely to the other end of the vaulted porch, opened a great
glazed door and held it back for the visitor to pass.
The Wanderer recognized that the farther he was allowed to penetrate
unhindered into the interior of the house, the nearer he should be to the
object of his search. He did not know where he was, nor what he might
find. For all that he knew, he might be in a club, in a great
banking-house, or in some semi-public institution of the nature of a
library, an academy or a conservatory of music. There are many such
establishments in Prague, though he was not acquainted with any in

which the internal arrangements so closely resembled those of a
luxurious private residence. But there was no time for hesitation, and
he ascended the broad staircase with a firm step, glancing at the rich
tapestries which covered the walls, at the polished surface of the marble
steps on either side of the heavy carpet, and at the elaborate and
beautiful iron-work of the hand-rail. As he mounted higher, he heard
the quick rapping of an electric signal above him, and he understood
that the porter had announced his coming. Reaching the landing, he
was met by a servant in black, as correct at all points as the porter
himself, and who bowed low as he held back the thick curtain which
hung before the entrance. Without a word the man followed the visitor
into a high room of irregular shape, which served as a vestibule, and
stood waiting to receive the guest's furs, should it please him to lay
them aside. To pause now, and to enter into an explanation with a
servant, would have been to reject an opportunity which might never
return. In such an establishment, he was sure of finding himself before
long in the presence of some more or less intelligent person of his own
class, of whom he could make such inquiries as might enlighten him,
and to whom he could present such excuses for his intrusion as might
seem most fitting in so difficult a case. He let his sables fall into the
hands of the servant and followed the latter along a short passage.
The man introduced him into a spacious hall and closed the door,
leaving him to his own reflections. The place was very wide and high
and without windows, but the broad daylight descended abundantly
from above through the glazed roof and illuminated every corner. He
would have taken the room for a conservatory, for it contained a forest
of tropical trees and plants, and whole gardens of rare southern flowers.
Tall letonias, date palms, mimosas and rubber trees of many varieties
stretched their fantastic spikes and heavy leaves half-way up to the
crystal ceiling; giant ferns swept the polished marble