stry door, that door which seemed to lead into old-time
woods, into happy, romantic worlds far away, and stepped through into
the passage in the thickness of the wall.

Almost instantly she came to the topmost step of the staircase. Black
with dust and cobwebs, damp, with slimy snail-tracks on the stones, it
went winding down to the lowest story of the old house. The steps were
worn and irregular. Long ago they had been built, for this was the most
ancient part of the chateau. In their first days the stairs had not
ended with the moat, then full of water, but had gone lower still,
leading to a passage under the moat that communicated with the open
country. There were many such underground ways in the war-worn old
province. But when Lancilly was restored and the moat drained, in the
seventeenth century, the lower stairs and passage were blocked up, and
the present door was made, opening on the green grass and bushes that
grew at the bottom of the old moat.

Helene went down the steep and narrow stairs as quickly as her trembling
limbs would carry her. They seemed endless; but at last the light fell
on a low, heavy door, deep set in the immense foundation wall. She
seized the large rusty latch and lifted it without difficulty. Then she
pulled gently; no result; she pushed hard, thinking the door must open
outwards; it did not move. She set down her light on the stairs, and
tried again with both hands; but the door was immovable. As her brain
became a little steadier, and her eyes more accustomed to the dimness,
she saw that a heavy iron bar was fastened across the upper panels of
the door, and run into two enormous staples on the wall at each side.
She touched the bar, tried to move it, but found her hands absolutely
useless; it would have been a heavy task for a strong man. She stood and
looked at the door, shivering with terror and distress. After all, it
seemed, she was a real prisoner. She could not keep her appointment with
Angelot. She gave a stifled cry and threw herself against the door,
beating it with her fists and bruising them. Then a voice spoke outside,
low and quickly.

"Helene!"

"Ah! you are there!" she said, and leaned her head against the door.

"Open then, dearest--don't be afraid. Lift the latch, and pull it
towards you. There is only a keyhole on this side--but it can't be
locked, for there is no key."

"I cannot," she said. "It is barred with a great iron bar. I cannot move
it. Oh, how unhapp