— a woman's shadow. Then both shadows glide away, and I fancy that my neighbour and his lady have gone into the dining-room, and have sat down at the prettily laid table, which I have seen being prepared by an elderly country-clad woman, who is my neighbour's housekeeper.
An hour afterwards the drawing-room is brightly lit. Through the laths of the Venetian blinds I just get a glimpse of the large chandelier with its wreath of pale candles and also of an enormous yellow lampshade. In one place a lath is broken, and through this peep-hole I can see the corner of a picture on which the light falls strongly, showing a woman's head and naked arm. But my neighbour and his guest I cannot see. They are most likely sitting on the high-backed sofa, which is partly hidden behind tall plants, and from which one gets a charming vista of the other rooms, which are also lit, the bedroom with its green globe silhouetted like a dim moon against the white of the festooned blinds.
On our side of the street it is dark, and I sit in the arm-chair in the bay-window, giving myself up to fancies. I am trying to imagine myself over there at our neighbour's in the lady's place. Who can she be? Is it possible that she can be a nice woman, a woman I might meet, a woman belonging to good society, and who perhaps, after she leaves our neighbour's, will go back home to play the virtuous daughter of respectable parents just like me? But if I were she, would it be possible
