negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared! I was bewildered . . . but only for one instant. Another feeling at once took possession of me; the street, which stretched its length, dumb, and, as it were, dead, before my eyes, I knew it! It was the street of my dream. I started, shivered, the morning was so fresh, and promptly, without the least hesitation, with a sort of shudder of conviction, went on!
I began looking about. . . . Yes, here it was; here to the right, standing cornerwise to the street, was the house of my dream, here too the old-fashioned gateway with scrollwork in stone on both sides. . . . It is true the windows of the house were not round, but rectangular . . . but that was not important. . . . I knocked at the gate, knocked twice or three times, louder and louder. . . . The gate was opened slowly with a heavy groan as though yawning. I was confronted by a young servant girl with dishevelled hair, and sleepy eyes. She was apparently only just awake. 'Does the baron live here?' I asked, and took in with a rapid glance the deep narrow courtyard. . . . Yes ; it was all there . . . there were the planks and beams I had seen in my dream.
'No,' the servant girl answered, 'the baron 's not living here.'
'Not ? impossible!'
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