He continued to follow her in silence as they went up the winding-stairs to the first floor. As Lisette laid her hand on the key of the door, Thibault suddenly stopped her. Something in the silence and solitude of the castle filled him with fear; it seemed as if a curse might have fallen on the place.
“Where are we going?” said Thibault, scarcely knowing himself what he said.
“You know well enough, surely.”
“Into the Countess’s room?”
“Into the Countess’s room.”
“She is waiting for me?”
“She is waiting for you.”
And Lisette opened the door. “Go in,” she said.
Thibault went in, and Lisette shut the door behind him and waited outside.
It was the same exquisite room, lighted in the same manner, filled with the same sweet scent. Thibault looked round for the Countess, he expected to see her appear at the dressing-room door, but the door remained closed. Not a sound was to be heard in the room, except the ticking of the Sèvres clock, and the beating of Thibault’s heart. He began to look about him with a feeling of shuddering fear for which he could not account; then his eyes fell on the bed; the Countess was lying asleep upon it. In her hair were the same diamond pins, round her neck the same pearls; she was dressed in the same pink silk dressing-gown, and had on the same little slippers of cloth of silver which she had worn to receive the Baron Raoul.