'Shall we go in to tea?' asked the squire, in a hoarse voice.
'To bed…to bed,' whispered the guests.
'The bedrooms are ready,' he said, trying to sound cheerful, in spite of sleepiness and a cold.
The ladies immediately got up, threw their wraps over their shoulders and left the room, turning their faces away from the windows.
Soon the ballroom was empty, save for the old cellist, who had gone to sleep with his arms round his instrument. The bustle was transferred to distant rooms; there was much stamping upstairs and noise of men's voices in the courtyard. Then all became silent.
The squire came clinking along the passages, looked dully round the ballroom, and said, yawning: 'Put out the lights, Mateus, and open the windows. Where is my lady?'
'My lady has gone to her room.'
My lady, in her orange-velvet gipsy costume and a diamond hoop in her hair, was lying in an arm-chair, her head thrown back. The squire dropped into another arm-chair, yawning broadly.
'Well, it was a great success.'
'Splendid,' yawned my lady.