This was the Seigneur Burckhardt's
hunting-saloon.
An old spinet stood between two windows; I ran my fingers absently over
the keys, and the loose strings jingled with the disagreeable squeaking
of a toothless old woman trying to sing like a young damsel.
At the end of this long apartment was an arched alcove closed in by deep
red curtains, and containing a lofty four-post bedstead with a kind of
grand baldacchino covering it in. The sight of this reminded me that I
had been six hours on horseback, and undressing with a self-satisfied
smirk on my face all the time--
"It is the first time," I said, "that I shall sleep in a bed of my own."
And laying myself comfortably down, with my eyes dreamily wandering over
the distant plains on which the shadows of evening were settling down, I
felt my eyelids gently yielding to the sweet influence of sleep. Not a
leaf was stirring; the village noises ceased one by one, the last golden
rays of the sun had disappeared, and I dropped into the unconsciousness
of welcome sleep.
Dark night fell on the face of the earth, and then the moon was rising in
all her splendour, when I awoke, I cannot tell why.
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