‘That makes the fifth generation,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘In the eyes of ignorant persons he may be mad perhaps. Is it not the truest sanity to prevent these horrors from culminating in a sixth? I cannot but approve his judgement.’

He turned towards the girl. She raised her face to his. I saw that it was white as marble. I thought that she was going to faint. Instinctively I seized the flask and poured out some of the wine.

‘Well thought of!’ said the Count. ‘The Church, however, comes first—even before a lady.’

He made a sign to her.

‘You need refreshment more than I,’ she said, offering me the glass.

I took it from her, not thinking what I did. And yet some word of hers recalled a word spoken before.

‘Refreshment!’

Take no refreshment in that house.

I had but tasted. For the moment my senses still were clear. I saw the Count sprinkle drops from a phial on to his handkerchief and give it to the little lady. I saw her fall back softly on the couch.

Her father watched with rapt attention. The swansdown cloak that she had worn was hanging over the back of a chair. Suddenly he tore a bit of it away and held it to her lips. The light down never stirred.

I thought that I called out, but heard no sound. There was a weight of lead upon my eyes—the air was thick with fog. I fought with might and main to get to her. I could not stir a step. I could not even see her now.

Making one last effort to move, I missed my footing and fell—fell, as it seemed, into a yawning gulf that opened suddenly before me—fell down and down and down into the fathomless depths of that slumber wherein we spend the half of existence.

But Lethe had been meted out unevenly; to her the sleep that knew no earthly morrow—to me the sleep that ended in a few hours, leaving the rest of life a dream.

On the day after, I met the Count at eight o’clock in the morning. At eight o’clock in the evening I kept my dinner engagement.