Yes, the dawn was breaking, the hour of his triumph was approaching.
Wrapping himself in his cloak, and with a fur over his arm for Violet, he caught up his valise, and with cat-like step made his way to the boudoir.
The door was ajar, as he had left it a few hours ago, but he paused and softly whispered her name.
There was no answer, and he crept in.
He had expected to find her there ready dressed, and waiting for him, but the room was empty. He went to the door of the bedroom and, knocking gently, cautiously called to her.
Still there was no answer, and after a moment's hesitation, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and he opened it and entered. The room was dimly lighted by a small shaded lamp, and for the moment he could distinguish nothing clearly, but the next he saw a figure lying on the bed. It was she. She was lying as if she had fallen backward in a fit of exhaustion, her pale face turned upward, one arm hanging by her side, the other thrown across the bed.
"Asleep? My poor darling!" he murmured. "But I must wake her! There is no time to be lost!"
Still she did not move, and he took her hand.