"And hast thou no wish this year, Marie?" asked the count, adopting, as
usual on this anniversary, the familiar "thou."
"Yes, I have one, dear Ludwig," replied the young girl, but with no
brightening of the melancholy features. "I have lost something, but thou
canst not give it back to me."
"And what may this something be? What hast thou lost, Marie? Tell me."
"My former sweet, sound sleep! and thou canst not buy me another in
Vienna or Paris. I used to sleep so soundly. I used to be so fond of my
sweet slumber that I could hardly wait to say my prayers, and often I
would be in dreamland long before I got to the 'Amen.' And if by any
chance I awoke in the night and heard the clock strike, I would beg of
it not to hurry along the hours so fast--I did not want morning to come
so soon! But now that I have to sleep with locked doors, I lie awake
often until midnight--terrified by I know not what. I dread to be so
entirely alone when everything is so quiet; and when it is dark I feel
as if some one were stealthily creeping about my room. When I hear a
noise I wonder what it can be, and my heart beats so rapidly! Then I
draw the covers over my head to shut out all sound, and if I fall asleep
thus I have such disagreeable dreams that I am glad when I waken again.
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