“Good-night, yes!  But that implied going to sleep, which was just what I could not do.  The Chambertin, the cider brandy and the cigars had certainly made me drunk, but not so as to overcome me altogether.  On the contrary, I was excited, my nerves were highly strung, my blood was heated, and I was in a half-sleep in which I felt that I was very much alive, and my whole being was in a vibration and expansion, just as if I had been smoking hashecah.

“Of course!  That was it; I was dreaming while I was awake; but I saw the door open and the marchioness come in, who had stepped down, out of her frame.  She had taken off her furbelows, and was in her nightgown.  Her high head-dress was replaced by a simple knot of ribbon, which confined her powdered hair into a small chignon, but I recognized her quite plainly, by the trembling light of the candle which she was carrying.  It was her face with its piercing eyes, its pointed nose and its smiling and sensual mouth.  She did not look so young to me as she appeared in her portrait.  Bah!  Perhaps that was merely caused by the feeble, flickering light!  But I had not even time to account for it, not to reflect on the strangeness of the sight, nor to discuss the matter with myself and to say:  ‘Am I dead drunk, or is it a ghost?’

“No, I had no time, and that is the fact, for the candle was suddenly blown out and the marchioness was in my bed and holding me in her arms, and one fixed idea, the only one that I had, haunted me, which was: 

“‘Had the marchioness good limbs, and was she still frisky at seventy?’ And I did not care much if she was seventy and if she was a ghost or not; I only thought of one thing:  ‘Has she really good limbs?’”

“By Jove, yes!  She did not speak.  Oh, marchioness! marchioness!  And suddenly in spite of myself and to convince myself that it was not a mere fantastic dream, I exclaimed: 

“‘Why, good heavens!  I am not dreaming!’

“‘No, you are not dreaming,’ two lips replied, trying to press themselves against mine.

“But, oh! horror!  The mouth smelt of cigars and brandy!  The voice was that of the little old man!

“With a bound I sent him flying on to the ground, and jumped out of bed, shouting: 

“‘Beast! beast!’

“Then I heard the door slam, and bare feet pattering on the stairs as he ran away; so I dressed hastily in the dark and went downstairs, still shouting.

“In the hall below, where I could see through the upper windows that the dawn was breaking, I met the broad-shouldered footman, who was holding a great cudgel in his hand.  He was bawling also, in Breton, and pointed to the open door, outside where my dog was waiting.  What could I say to this savage who did not speak French?  Should I face his cudgel?  There was no reason for doing so; and besides, I was even more ashamed than furious; so I hastily took up my gun and my game-bag, which were in the hall, and went off without turning round.