Wide open on the table lay a fine black-letter volume, with
illuminations, bound in vellum, clasped and cornered with silver,
apparently a collection of old chronicles. Besides there was nothing but
two leathern arm-chairs, bearing on them the unmistakable impression of
the misshapen figure of this learned gentleman.
I need not stay to do more than mention the pens, the jar of tobacco,
five or six pipes lying here and there, and in a corner a small cast-iron
stove, with its low, open door wide open, and throwing out now and then a
volley of bright sparks; and to complete the picture, the cat arching her
back, and spitting threateningly at me with her armed paw uplifted.
All this scene was tinted with that deep rich amber light in which the
old Flemish painters delighted, and of which they alone possessed the
secret, and never left it to the generations after them.
"So you went out last night, doctor?" inquired my host, after we had both
installed ourselves, and while I had my hands in a warm place upon the
stove.
"Yes, pretty early," I answered. "I had to look after a patient."
This brief explanation seemed to satisfy the little hunchback, and he
lighted his blackened boxwood pipe, which was hanging over his chin.
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