In a
moment that feeling was gone he knew not why it had come. And
though he remembered it till grey old age, when he came to know
the causes of many things, he never knew what romance might have
to do with shadows or echoes at night in an empty room, and only
knew of such fancies that they came from beyond his understanding,
whether from wisdom or folly.
Morano was first asleep, as enormous snores testified, almost
before the echoes had died away of the footsteps of the old woman
descending the stairs; but soon Rodriguez followed him into the
region of dreams, where fantastic ambitions can live with less of
a struggle than in the broad light of day: he dreamed he walked at
night down a street of castles strangely colossal in an awful
starlight, with doors too vast for any human need, whose
battlements were far in the heights of night; and chose, it being
in time of war, the one that should be his; but the gargoyles on
it were angry and spoiled the dream.
Dream followed dream with furious rapidity, as the dreams of tired
men do, racing each other, jostling and mingling and dancing, an
ill-assorted company: myriads went by, a wild, grey, cloudy
multitude; and with the last walked dawn.
Rodriguez rose more relieved to quit so tumultuous a rest than
refreshed by having had it.
He descended, leaving Morano to sleep on, and not till the old
dame had made a breakfast ready did he return to interrupt his
snores.
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