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 was easy enough to scale for us, and in a minute we both dropped down in a bed of soft mould on the other side. We pushed through some gooseberry-bushes that caught the clothes, and distinguishing the outline of the house, made that way, till in a few steps we stood on the pelouse or turf, which I had seen from the balcony three hours before. I knew the twirl of the walks and the pattern of the beds, the rank of hollyhocks that stood up all along the wall, and the poppies breathing out a faint, sickly odour in the night. An utter silence held all the garden, and the night being very clear, there was still enough light to show the colours of the flowers when one looked close at them, though the green of the leaves was turned to gray.

We kept in the shadow of the wall, and looked expectantly at the house. But no murmur came from it—it might have been a house of the dead for any noise the living made there—nor was there light in any window, except in one behind the balcony, to which our eyes were turned first. In that room there was some one not yet gone to rest, for we could see a lattice of light where a lamp shone through the open work of the wooden blinds.

"He is up still," I whispered, "and the outside shutters are not closed." Elzevir nodded, and then I made straight for the bed where the red flower grew. I had no need of any light to see the bells of that great rushy thing, for it was different from any of the rest, and, besides that, was planted by itself.

I pointed it out to Elzevir. "The stone lies by the stalk of that flower," I said, "on the side nearest to the house;" and then I stayed him with my hand upon his