MRS. WOODROW WILSON 3?
door—for our rooms connected—and the same man was evidently waiting for us. He silently accompanied us to the front door, which he opened, and bowed us out. The house seemed full of closed doors on every side, and there was not a sound.
Deciding that we would find the other guests at dinner, we roamed around, as one loves to do in a new European city, until time to dress. When we returned to the hotel, again the front door was opened by the same ubiquitous man who bowed us a welcome.
We dressed for dinner, and at eight a tap on the door announced: "Madame, le diner est servi" We were escorted downstairs by our butler host and ushered into a charming little dining room opening onto the garden. One table, and one only, was set—for two. A perfect meal was served by our butler. No other guest or servant appeared. The meal over, our man opened the great doors connecting with a cosy sitting room where we found the English and American papers and magazines and where he brought us our coffee. Not another human soul appeared, and we began to wonder what sort of place this could be. We stayed downstairs until ten-thirty, when we arose to go upstairs and, before we could reach the door, it was opened from without and there stood our * Shadow" waiting to precede us upstairs to open our door and bow a good night to us.
It all seemed so queer that I am not ashamed to say I decided to put the furniture against the doors during the night, for I was sure we would be bowed into bed at night and out again in the morning. The next day exactly the same order was observed, and then I felt certain that we must be in some queer place which could not be as perfect as it seemed, though the cuisine would have tempted an epicure, the service was faultless, and the whole tone of the place dignified and distinguished.
Yet I told Altrude we must stay on until we found the skeleton which must inhabit a closet behind one of those closed doors—which we passed and repassed many times