Реклама. ООО «ЛитРес», ИНН: 7719571260.
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A little girl stopped at a door and knocked at it. A part of this door was of glass, unprotected by any shutter. When she had knocked twice or thrice, there was a noise as if some person were moving inside. It was an old man with long grey hair; he held the light above his head and looked before him. There was something of that delicate mould which one could notice in the child. Their bright blue eyes were certainly alike, but his face was deeply furrowed.
The place was one of the receptacles for old and curious things. There were suits of mail standing like ghosts in armour, here and there; fantastic carvings from monkish cloisters; rusty weapons of various kinds; figures in china[1], and wood, and iron, and ivory; tapestry, and strange furniture. The old man was wonderfully suited to the place.
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With this, they separated. The child opened the door. The old man’s figure was soon beyond her sight.
“You have chosen your own path,” said the old man. “Follow it. Leave Nell and I to toil and work.”
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