ance of tapestry screens and curtained
doorways. In every palace of that date there was a wonderful labyrinth
of chambers and corridors, where luxury ran riot; gilding, marble,
carved wainscoting, Eastern silks; nooks and corners, some secret and
dark as night, others light and pleasant as the day. There were attics,
richly and brightly furnished; burnished recesses shining with Dutch
tiles and Portuguese azulejos. The tops of the high windows were
converted into small rooms and glass attics, forming pretty habitable
lanterns. The thickness of the walls was such that there were rooms
within them. Here and there were closets, nominally wardrobes. They were
called "The Little Rooms." It was within them that evil deeds were
hatched.

When a Duke of Guise had to be killed, the pretty Presidente of
Sylvecane abducted, or the cries of little girls brought thither by
Lebel smothered, such places were convenient for the purpose. They were
labyrinthine chambers, impracticable to a stranger; scenes of
abductions; unknown depths, receptacles of mysterious disappearances. In
those elegant caverns princes and lords stored their plunder. In such a
place the Count de Charolais hid Madame Courchamp, the wife of the Clerk
of the Privy Council; Monsieur de Monthule, the daughter of Haudry, the
farmer of La Croix Saint Lenfroy; the Prince de Conti, the two beautiful
baker women of L'Ile Adam; the Duke of Buckingham, poor Pennywell, etc.
The deeds done there were such as were designated by the Roman law as
committed _vi, clam, et precario_--by force, in secret, and for a short
time. Once in, an occupant remained there till the master of the house
decreed his or her release. They were gilded oubliettes, savouring both
of the cloister and the harem. Their staircases twisted, turned,
ascended, and descended. A zigzag of rooms, one running into another,
led back to the starting-point. A gallery terminated in an oratory. A
confessional was grafted on to an alcove. Perhaps the architects of "the
little rooms," building for royalty and aristocracy, took as models the
ramifications of coral beds, and the openings in a sponge. The branches
became a labyrinth. Pictures turning on false panels were exits and
entrances. They were full of stage contrivances, and no
wonder--considering the dramas that were played there! The floors of
these hives reached from the cellars to the attics. Quaint madrepore
inlaying every palace, from Versailles downwards, li