I had no fixed plan. I was only
waiting for the house to get quiet. The only precaution I took was
to keep on my stockings. My aunt's chamber was in the second story. I
should have to go through the dining-room, the ante-room, up a flight
of stairs, along an entry, and on the right was the door. It was not
necessary to take a candle or lantern: I knew that in the corner of my
aunt's chamber there was a shrine with a light always burning before
it, so I should be able to see well enough. I lay with my eyes wide
open, my mouth open and dry: the blood throbbing in my temples, my
ears, throat, back, throughout my whole body. I waited, but it seemed
to me as if a demon were tormenting me. Time went by, but the house
did not get quiet.

IX.

Never, it seemed to me, had David been so long in going to sleep:
David, the taciturn David, even talked to me. Never did the people in
the house clatter and walk about and talk so late. And what are they
talking about now? thought I. Haven't they had time enough since
morning? Outdoors, too, the noise kept up very late. A dog would bark
with long-protracted howls; then a drunken man would go by with a
racket; then a rattling wagon would seem as if it took for ever to
get past the house. But these outdoor noises did not vex me: on the
contrary, I was glad to hear them. They would make the people in the
house indifferent to sounds. But at last it seems as if everything
were quiet. Only the pendulum of an old clock ticks loudly and
solemnly in the dining-room: one can hear the heavy, long-drawn, even
breathing of the sleepers. I am just going to get up when something
buzzes in my ears: suddenly there is a creaking sound, and something
soft falls, and the sound spreads itself in waves along the walls of
the room. Or was it nothing, after all, but fancy? At last it has all
died away, and the darkness and churchyard stillness of night descend.
Now is the time! Cold with anticipation, I throw off the bed-clothes,
let my feet glide down to the floor, stand up: one step--a second--I
creep along; the soles of my feet don't seem to belong to me; they are
heavy and my steps are weak and uncertain. Stop! what is that noise?
Is it some one filing, scraping or snoring? I listen with a feeling as
if ants were running over my cheeks, my eyes filling with cold tears.
It is nothing. I creep along again. It is dark, but I know the way.
Suddenly I hit against a chair. What a racket! and how it hurt