Was there anything, I wondered (in the spirit of Marianna, the Captive of the Abruzzi), in the room itself with which I could effect an escape? Marianna had spent her time reflecting upon her situation and drawing Moral Conclusions, but then she, poor girl, had been shut in a chilly dungeon, and chained, besides, so there was not a great deal for her to look at. I supposed that I would need some kind of Implement with which to prize open the door. But the only Implements at hand seemed to be made of porcelain. One was a shepherdess and the other was a dog, and they were both broken. I searched further and found: a bent telescope; a glass paperweight; a statue of some Indian god, dented; a box containing specimens of dead butterflies, pinned to a board; a chipped decanter with a sticky little puddle of something sweet in the bottom. (I tasted it—it was too sweet, and just as I sipped, I thought of Poison and nearly choked.) There were several old dresses, very dusty, full of moths; a broken looking-glass; a portrait of a fat lady; a portrait of a fat boy and girl, both very disagreeable, and a fat dog, even more so; a dull Dutch-looking landscape, in oil, without a frame; a dull peeling-gilt frame, of a different size, without a picture; a gentleman’s full-bottomed wig, inhabited by moths, the cousins of those in the dresses—the male branch of the family, no doubt; and—Horrid Discovery!—a Human Head.

I have no doubt that I shrieked and put my hands to my mouth. I have observed that that is what I do when I am Startled. But the head that had startled me wore a good-humored, jolly expression and seemed not at all put out to have lost the company of its body.

It was, of course, made of wood. I realized that it belonged to the wig. It had a little pedestal and a brightly painted face and was altogether the cheerfulest object that I had seen for many months; and I was so lonely by then that I spoke to it and set it up on the bamboo table beside the ottoman, and shook its wig for it and dressed it again. And instantly I felt more cheerful, as if I had been visited by a jovial old soul whose only purpose was to look after me.

I told him everything that had happened and he listened with wonderful patience. And then, as if he were bringing me luck, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. The key turned in the lock.

It was Frau Muller. I sat in a Dignified Manner upon the ottoman and looked straight ahead of me. She said nothing. I said nothing. She set down a tray upon the bamboo table and turned to leave. She left. She locked the door. She went downstairs.

Food!