hen I went to
bed about an hour later, nearly drunk, in the large room papered in
white and gold, to which I was shown by a tall, broad-shouldered
footman, who wished me good-night in Breton.

"_Good-night_, yes! But that implied going to sleep, which was just what
I could not do. The Chambertin, the cider brandy and the cigars had
certainly made me drunk, but not so as to overcome me altogether. On the
contrary, I was excited, my nerves were highly strung, my blood was
heated, and I was in a half-sleep in which I felt that I was very much
alive, and my whole being was in a vibration and expansion, just as if I
had been smoking hashecah.

"Of course! That was it; I was dreaming while I was awake; but I saw the
door open and the marchioness come in, who had stepped down, out of her
frame. She had taken off her furbelows, and was in her nightgown. Her
high head-dress was replaced by a simple knot of ribbon, which confined
her powdered hair into a small chignon, but I recognized her quite
plainly, by the trembling light of the candle which she was carrying. It
was her face with its piercing eyes, its pointed nose and its smiling
and sensual mouth. She did not look so young to me as she appeared in
her portrait. Bah! Perhaps that was merely caused by the feeble,
flickering light! But I had not even time to account for it, not to
reflect on the strangeness of the sight, nor to discuss the matter with
myself and to say: 'Am I dead drunk, or is it a ghost?'

"No, I had no time, and that is the fact, for the candle was suddenly
blown out and the marchioness was in my bed and holding me in her arms,
and one fixed idea, the only one that I had, haunted me, which was:

"'Had the marchioness good limbs, and was she still frisky at seventy?'
And I did not care much if she was seventy and if she was a ghost or
not; I only thought of one thing: 'Has she really good limbs?'"

"By Jove, yes! She did not speak. Oh, marchioness! marchioness! And
suddenly in spite of myself and to convince myself that it was not a
mere fantastic dream, I exclaimed:

"'Why, good heavens! I am not dreaming!'

"'No, you are not dreaming,' two lips replied, trying to press
themselves against mine.

"But, oh! horror! The mouth smelt of cigars and brandy! The voice was
that of the little old man!

"With a bound I sent him flying on to the ground, and jumped out of bed,
shouting:

"'Beast! beast!'

"Then I heard the door slam, and bare feet patterin