” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. She really must not go to that affair. Tell me I haven’t heard. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting.
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