"
"Does she indeed?" said the Prophet, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed.
"She desires me to take you to her at once, sir, there to confer
and"--he lowered his voice and trembled visibly--"to arrange measures
for the protection of my life."
The Prophet found himself wishing that he had been less precipitate in
covertly alluding to Sir Tiglath's long desire of assault and battery,
but before he had time to wish anything for more than half a minute, Mr.
Sagittarius had guided him ceremoniously across the hall and was turning
the handle of a door that was decorated with black and scarlet paint.
"Here, sir," he whispered, "you will find Madame surrounded by the
authors whom she loves, by their portraits, their biographies and their
writings. Here she communes with the great philosophers, sir, the poets,
the historians and the humourists of the entire world, from the earliest
days down to this very moment--in Persian calf, sir."
He gazed awfully at the Prophet, and gently opened the door of this
temple of the intellect.
The Prophet expected to find himself ushered into a gigantic chamber,
lined from floor to ceiling with shelves that groaned beneath their
burden of the literature of genius.
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