The journey lasted half an hour.
When the carriage stopped, it was no longer on the street. The mulatto
and the coachman took Henri in their arms, lifted him out, and,
putting him into a sort of litter, conveyed him across a garden. He
could smell its flowers and the perfume peculiar to trees and grass.
The silence which reigned there was so profound that he could
distinguish the noise made by the drops of water falling from the
moist leaves. The two men took him to a staircase, set him on his
feet, led him by his hands through several apartments, and left him in
a room whose atmosphere was perfumed, and the thick carpet of which he
could feel beneath his feet.
A woman's hand pushed him on to a divan, and untied the handkerchief
for him. Henri saw Paquita before him, but Paquita in all her womanly
and voluptuous glory. The section of the boudoir in which Henri found
himself described a circular line, softly gracious, which was faced
opposite by the other perfectly square half, in the midst of which a
chimney-piece shone of gold and white marble. He had entered by a door
on one side, hidden by a rich tapestried screen, opposite which was a
window. The semicircular portion was adorned with a real Turkish
divan, that is to say, a mattress thrown on the ground, but a mattress
as broad as a bed, a divan fifty feet in circumference, made of white
cashmere, relieved by bows of black and scarlet silk, arranged in
panels. The top of this huge bed was raised several inches by numerous
cushions, which further enriched it by their tasteful comfort.
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