"There--you are launched.

You are lance, my friend.

I may say you are through the shoals now and out on the high seas--" He paused, candle in hand, and looked round the room with a reflective smile.

It was obviously the best room in the house, with a fireplace as wide as a gate, where logs of pine burnt briskly on high iron dogs.
The bed loomed mysteriously in one corner with its baldachin of Gobelin tapestry.

Here, too, the dim scent of fallen monarchy lingered in the atmosphere.