Chapter xviii. The Darkened Room.
The little gentleman advances to my bedside. His silky white hair flows over his shoulders; he looks at us with faded blue eyes; he bows with a sad and subdued courtesy, and says, in the simplest manner, “I bid you welcome, gentlemen, to my house.”
We are not content with merely thanking him; we naturally attempt to apologize for our intrusion. Our host defeats the attempt at the outset by making an apology on his own behalf.
“I happened to send for my servant a minute since,” he proceeds, “and I only then heard that you were here. It is a custom of the house that nobody interrupts me over my books. Be pleased, sir, to accept my excuses,” he adds, addressing himself to me, “for not having sooner placed myself and my household at your disposal. You have
