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There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they

communicated being put open that the air might pass freely

through them all, Mr. Lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful

resemblance which he detected all around him, walked from one to

another. The first was the best room, and in it were Lucie's

birds, and flowers, and books, and desk, and work-table, and box

of water-colours; the second was the Doctor's consulting-room,

used also as the dining-room; the third, changingly speckled by

the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the Doctor's

bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disused shoemaker's

bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor

of the dismal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of Saint

Antoine in Paris.

"I wonder," said Mr. Lorry, pausing in his looking about, "that

he keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!"

"And why wonder at that?" was the abrupt inquiry that made him

start.