He was staring at her, openly gaping. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. “It was best for me to know. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up.
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