Explore "The Last Vendée" by Alexandre Dumas on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The little room was lighted only by the lantern, the rays of which were concentrated on the door, leaving in darkness, or at any rate in obscurity, the rest of the room, if, indeed, the word "room" can be applied to the sort of pigeon-loft in which the two young people were now alone.
Michel was still sitting on the heap of oats. Mary was kneeling on the ground, looking into the basket with more embarrassment than interest, ostensibly in search of some dainty which might still be forthcoming to conclude the repast.