And in the library, Gregorio's stony features were bent all day over papers and documents and books of accounts, seeking refuge from sure ruin, while now and then his face was twisted into a curiously vacant grimace, and his maniac laugh cracked and reverberated through the lonely, vaulted chamber.

He often sat there by himself until late into the night, for the end of the year was at hand, with all the destruction that a date can mean when a man is ruined.
It was a big, long room, with old bookcases ranged by the walls, not more than five feet high, and closed by doors of brass wire netting lined with dark green cotton.

A polished table took up most of the length between the door which led to the hall at the one end, and the single high window at the other.

There was no fireplace, and the count had the place warmed by means of a big brass brazier filled with wood coals.

At night, he had two large lamps with green glass shades.
Matilde sometimes came in and sat with him during the evening.