There seemed to be some uncomfortable attraction of Monsieur Rigaud's eyes to the immediate neighbourhood of that part of the pavement where the thumb had been in the plan.

They were so drawn in that direction, that the Italian more than once followed them to and back from the pavement in some surprise.
'What an infernal hole this is!' said Monsieur Rigaud, breaking a long pause.

'Look at the light of day.

Day?
the light of yesterday week, the light of six months ago, the light of six years ago.

So slack and dead!' It came languishing down a square funnel that blinded a window in the staircase wall, through which the sky was never seen--nor anything else.
'Cavalletto,' said Monsieur Rigaud, suddenly withdrawing his gaze from this funnel to which they had both involuntarily turned their eyes, 'you know me for a gentleman ?' 'Surely, surely!' 'How long have we been here ?' 'I, eleven weeks, to-morrow night at midnight.