It was the phantom they had told him of—a white figure moving slowly along, with a lamp steadily held in one hand.
Nothing daunted, he moved towards the figure, as it silently entered the room, and put down the light. And then he saw that it was the village girl to whom he had spoken but an hour or so before.
He drew his breath silently, as he recognized her, for he knew that she was a somnambulist, and that if woke too suddenly she might fall dead.
But he kept his eyes upon her, as she moved from the table towards his bed.
On—on; slowly—slowly, till she came to the bed; upon which she laid down, whispering Elvino’s name, and then in a minute was sleeping peacefully.
He stepped lightly to the window, saw how she had entered, closed and fastened the sashes, returned to the bed—hesitated for a moment, then turning towards the door, he retired.
The woman Liza, immediately he had left, came from behind the bed, where she had remained, gave one earnest look at the unconscious Amina, and quickly left the room.
Now was the time for revenge. Now Amina should feel what it was to have a rival; now she should suffer for alienating Elvino from her. And Elvino, too, should weep, and be sorry for having slighted her. She would tell him he had cruelly dismissed her, and she would add that in revenge she would point at the Amina he believed so good and pure.
Now, the villagers instead of soberly going to bed, got up a demonstration of delight in honor of the count’s return, and a score or so of the principal people in the place entered the inn to congratulate the count just as he left his room. The deputation grandly demanding of Liza to be shown into the count’s apartment, Mademoiselle Liza, with all the simplicity in the world, said she would head them, and so the procession entered the haunted room to congratulate the count—but to find whom? The poor girl still sleeping soundly, and little dreaming of what was coming.
“Amina!” they all cried, as with one voice.