three-winged
grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid-out grounds. Mirzah
beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and despatched him to
the house as a warning of the European's coming. It was well, for when
we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese
serving-woman within bade us enter.
We
were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small
congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically
filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and
the amber-coloured crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a
less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved
forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings
as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and
with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese
calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead.
Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all
directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall
plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the
long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot
over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally,
we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned
chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly
upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply
wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her
right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us,
two cheap Viennese bent-wood
