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Updated: May 12, 2025
At this moment he was sitting in his armchair, silent, absorbed, lost in reflection, sheltered under his high-crowned hat a kind of black cylinder which always seems firmly screwed upon the head of an American. Just when the deep-toned clock in the great hall struck eight, Barbicane, as if he had been set in motion by a spring, raised himself up.
The two great fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set a-going, and they rang out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the Abbot of Aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore. That night Ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! First, as to his astonishment.
The whole low-vaulted building glows duskily; the frescoed roof, the stained windows, the figure-crowded pavements blending their rich but subdued colours, like hues upon some marvellous moth's wings, or like a deep-toned rainbow mist discerned in twilight dreams, or like such tapestry as Eastern queens, in ancient days, wrought for the pavilion of an empress.
They had cut the cake with Boby on the top, and the Crown Prince had eaten far more than was good for him. He sat, fingering the Lincoln penny and feeling extremely full and very contented. Then, suddenly, from a far-off church a deep-toned bell began to toll slowly. Prince Ferdinand William Otto caught it. St. Stefan's bell! He sat up and listened.
The background of the wallspaces is the same, but between the pilasters, occur panels of warm pink. The pilasters are in pairs to harmonize with the pillars bordering the colonnade. In the portals swing Roman lamps in dull blue-green. The heavy bronze lanterns, suspended from the deep-toned cream ceiling of the corridors, are Italian in design.
We had a fellow feeling with the brute, and could ourselves, grave and sensible as we are, have pranced about in an ecstasy of admiration, which was by no means allayed when the deep-toned sullen music for such it is to us of the artillery uttered its majestic bass to the sharp ringing fire of musketry.
I opened the door gently, and stood in a great solemn church. A deep-toned bell, whose sounds throbbed and echoed and swam through the empty building, struck the hour of midnight.
"What do you want?" it seemed to say. "Get it over." There was a deep-toned query then, and Jeffrey answered, without lowering his voice, in what seemed to Lydia and Anne, watching the effect on their father, a reckless, if not a brutal, disregard of decencies: "Nothing to say. Yes, I understand. You fellows have got to get a story. But you can't. I've been pardoned out, that's all. I'm here.
They all t'y to lea'n E'se, and it wo'ies them and makes them hate England moa and moa." "He is orthodox. He is what I call orthodox to the ridiculous extent." "'idiculous." A deep-toned gong proclaimed breakfast over a square mile or so of territory, and Lady Sunderbund turned about mechanically towards the house. But they continued their discussion. She started indeed a new topic.
The deep-toned organ, whose sounds reverberated through the lofty arches, was very impressive. The convent consisted of three large buildings, each three stories high, and a residence for the priests; also a chapel, where women, at their devotions, might be seen at various hours from four o'clock in the morning until evening.
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