"Not so very odd when I come to think of it," and I looked down at my shabby attire. "It is generally late when I go out."
He held out one leg, clothed in its fantastic dress.
"I too am on the rocks," and he laughed bitterly, "and feed with the goats."
Wishing to change the subject, I inquired about the girl. He turned away to the window, and when he looked back the man's eyes were full of tears.
"Would you care to see?" he asked, with a shake in his voice.
I bowed gravely, and he conducted me upstairs, fully two flights beyond my room, and then stopped on a small landing. Through the half-open door that faced us, a little dog came out, and looked wistfully at Corte. He stooped to stroke it, and then rising, passed into the room. When he had gone beyond the door, he looked back at me, saying "enter."
I did so with gentle footsteps, and he pointed to a bed in the corner of the room, on which was the figure of a woman, lying so still and motionless, that she might have been an image of wax. Her plentiful brown hair was spread over the pillow, and out of this frame, the pinched white face, with all its traces of past beauty, looked out in a pitiful silence. One thin hand was turned palm downwards on the coverlet, and, as we stood, the fingers began to work convulsively.
Corte bent over her forehead and touched it with his lips. "Little one," he said, "do you sleep?"
The girl opened her sightless eyes, and a faint smile, that lightened her face, making it wondrous beautiful, passed over her countenance.
"Not yet." She spoke so low I could hardly catch the words, "but I shall sleep soon."