"My former sweet, sound sleep! and thou canst not buy me another in Vienna or Paris. I used to sleep so soundly. I used to be so fond of my sweet slumber that I could hardly wait to say my prayers, and often I would be in dreamland long before I got to the 'Amen.' And if by any chance I awoke in the night and heard the clock strike, I would beg of it not to hurry along the hours so fast—I did not want morning to come so soon! But now that I have to sleep with locked doors, I lie awake often until midnight—terrified by I know not what. I dread to be so entirely alone when everything is so quiet; and when it is dark I feel as if some one were stealthily creeping about my room. When I hear a noise I wonder what it can be, and my heart beats so rapidly! Then I draw the covers over my head to shut out all sound, and if I fall asleep thus I have such disagreeable dreams that I am glad when I waken again."
Count Vavel gently took the young girl's hand in his.
"Suppose I could restore to thee thy former sweet slumber, Marie? Suppose I take up my old quarters on the lounge by the door?"
The young girl gazed into his eyes as if she would penetrate his very soul. Then she said sorrowfully: "No, dear Ludwig; that would not restore my slumber."
"Then suppose I have thought of something that will? Come with me, and see."
She laid her hand on his arm, and went with him to her room.
Ludwig conducted her into the alcove, and stepped outside.
"Draw the cord which hangs at the head of the bed," he said, smiling at her wondering face.
Marie did as he bade her, and the metal screen unrolled, and was caught in the springs in the floor.
"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed in amazement. "I am a prisoner in my own alcove."