They parted at the little porch. Gerzson wrapped his bunda round his shoulders and went towards the bee-house, but the priest returned to his chamber, blew out the light, lay down fully dressed on his bed, took up his rosary and fell a-praying like one who does not expect to see the dawn of another day.
He knew his man; he knew what was coming.
Squire Gerzson, on the other hand, troubled himself not a jot about possible consequences. With the nonchalance of a true sportsman, he lit his pipe and, lest he should set anything on fire, he made up his mind not to sleep a wink till he had smoked his pipe right out.
In order that slumber might not come upon him unawares, he resolved to fix his eyes on the castle windows—as the best preservative against dropping off. He could see them quite plainly from the bee-house.
The illuminated windows were darkened one by one. It seemed as if, contrary to the words of the clergyman, the revellers within there did not mean to await the rosy dawn glass in hand, but had lain down early.
For, indeed, it was still early. The village cocks had only just crowed for the first time. It could not be much beyond eleven.
After the lamps had been extinguished, the castle stood there in the semi-obscurity of night like a black, old-world ruin. It stood right in front of the moon which was now climbing up behind its bastions and where its light fell upon two opposite windows which met together in a corner room it shone through them both and lighted up the whole apartment. This room was the baroness's dormitory.
While Mr. Gerzson was luxuriating in the contemplation of the moonlight, he suddenly observed that the moonlight falling upon the windows was obscured for an instant, as if somebody were passing up and down the room. In a few moments this obscuration was repeated, and the same thing happened a third time, and a fourth, and many times more, just as if some one were passing up and down in that particular room in the middle of the night restlessly, incessantly.
Mr. Gerzson counted on his pulses the seconds which elapsed between each obscuration—sixteen seconds, consequently the room in which this person was to-and-froing it so late at night like a spectre, must be sixteen paces from one end to the other. So long as the other windows had been lit up, this person had not begun to walk but as soon as the whole castle was slumbering its restless course began.
Gerzson felt that if he looked much longer, he would become moonstruck himself.