There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down. Melusine came in, picked up the lantern, and heard the library door bang open just as the panel clicked closed behind her. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe.
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