day before, he blushed and sighed, and
his heart beat fast.

He looked at the window. Marvellous to say, in the sunlit aperture, within
that heart, there shone two bright eyes, opened wide, as is wont to be the
case when one gazes from daylight into darkness; he saw also a little
hand, raised like a fan on the side towards the sun, to shield the gaze;
the tiny fingers, turned towards the rosy light, reddened clear through,
as if made of rubies; he beheld curious lips, slightly parted, and little
teeth that shone like pearls among corals; and the face, though it was
protected from the sun by a rosy palm, itself glowed all over like the
rose.

Thaddeus was sleeping beneath the window; himself hidden in the shade,
lying on his back, he wondered at the marvellous apparition, which was
directly above him, almost touching his face. He did not know whether he
was awake, or whether he was imagining one of those dear, bright childish
faces that we remember to have seen in the dreams of our innocent years.
The little face bent down: he beheld, trembling with fear and joy, alas!
he beheld most clearly--he recalled and recognised now that short, bright
golden hair done up in tiny curl papers white as snow, like silvery pods,
which in the gleam of the sun shone like a crown on the image of a saint.

He started up, and the vision straightway vanished, frightened by the
noise; he waited, but it did not return! He only heard again a
thrice-repeated knocking and the words: "Get up, sir; it is time for
hunting, you have overslept." He jumped from his couch, and with both
hands pushed back the shutters, so that their hinges rattled, and flying
open they knocked against the wall on either side. He rushed out and
looked around, amazed and confused, but he saw nothing, nor did he
perceive traces of any one. Not far from the window was the garden fence;
on it the hop leaves and the flowery garlands were trembling; had some
light hands touched them or had the wind stirred them? Thaddeus gazed long
on them, but did not dare enter the enclosure; he only leaned on the
fence, raised his eyes, and, with his finger pressed on his lips, bade
himself be silent, in order not to break the stillness by a hasty word.
Then he rapped his forehead, as though he were tapping for some ancient
memories that had been lulled to sleep within him; finally, gnawing his
fingers, he drew blood, and shouted at the top of his voice: "It serves me
right, it does."

I