impatience Germaine dropped into a chair. Irma stood waiting by the
drawing-room door. Sonia sat down by the bureau.

There came a sharp patter of rain against the windows.

"Rain! It only wanted that! It's going to be perfectly beastly!"
cried Germaine.

"Oh, well, you must make the best of it. At any rate you're well
wrapped up, and the night is warm enough, though it is raining,"
said the Duke. "Still, I could have wished that Lupin confined his
operations to fine weather." He paused, and added cheerfully, "But,
after all, it will lay the dust."

They sat for three or four minutes in a dull silence, listening to
the pattering of the rain against the panes. The Duke took his
cigarette-case from his pocket and lighted a cigarette.

Suddenly he lost his bored air; his face lighted up; and he said
joyfully: "Of course, why didn't I think of it? Why should we start
from a pit of gloom like this? Let us have the proper illumination
which our enterprise deserves."

With that he set about lighting all the lamps in the hall. There
were lamps on stands, lamps on brackets, lamps on tables, and lamps
which hung from the roof--old-fashioned lamps with new reservoirs,
new lamps of what is called chaste design, brass lamps, silver
lamps, and lamps in porcelain. The Duke lighted them one after
another, patiently, missing none, with a cold perseverance. The
operation was punctuated by exclamations from Germaine. They were