At last the baron roused himself, and signed to Pierre that he wished to
retire to his own chamber; whereupon the servant lighted a pine knot at
the fire, and preceded his master up the stairs, Miraut and Beelzebub
accompanying them. The smoky, flaring light of the torch made the faded
figures on the wall seem to waver and move as they passed through the
hall and up the broad staircase, and gave a strange, weird expression to
the family portraits that looked down upon this little procession as
it moved by below them. When they reached the tapestried chamber Pierre
lighted a little copper lamp, and then bade the baron good-night,
followed by Miraut as he retraced his steps to the kitchen; but
Beelzebub, being a privileged character, remained, and curled himself up
comfortably in one of the old arm-chairs, while his master threw himself
listlessly into the other, in utter despair at the thought of his
miserable loneliness, and aimless, hopeless life. If the chamber seemed
dreary and forlorn by day, it was far more so by night. The faded
figures in the tapestry had an uncanny look; especially one, a hunter,
who might have passed for an assassin, just taking aim at his victim.
The smile on his startlingly red lips, in reality only a self-satisfied
smirk, was fairly devilish in that light, and his ghastly face horribly
life-like.
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