At that moment of inflated conceit if the poor Kapellmeister Haas had appeared before me I might very likely have turned and looked at him over my shoulder and asked, “What fool is that?  What business has he with me?”

I threw a window open; evening was closing in.  The setting sun gilded my orchards and my vines as far as I could see.  On the declivity of the hill a few white patches indicated the cemetery.

I turned round.  A great Gothic hall, with rich mouldings decorating the ceiling, pleased my taste exceedingly.  This was the Seigneur Burckhardt’s hunting-saloon.

An old spinet stood between two windows; I ran my fingers absently over the keys, and the loose strings jingled with the disagreeable squeaking of a toothless old woman trying to sing like a young damsel.

At the end of this long apartment was an arched alcove closed in by deep red curtains, and containing a lofty four-post bedstead with a kind of grand baldacchino covering it in.  The sight of this reminded me that I had been six hours on horseback, and undressing with a self-satisfied smirk on my face all the time—­

“It is the first time,” I said, “that I shall sleep in a bed of my own.”

And laying myself comfortably down, with my eyes dreamily wandering over the distant plains on which the shadows of evening were settling down, I felt my eyelids gently yielding to the sweet influence of sleep.  Not a leaf was stirring; the village noises ceased one by one, the last golden rays of the sun had disappeared, and I dropped into the unconsciousness of welcome sleep.

Dark night fell on the face of the earth, and then the moon was rising in all her splendour, when I awoke, I cannot tell why.  The wandering scents of summer air reached me through the open window, fragrant with the sweet perfume of the new-mown hay.  I gazed with surprise, then I made an effort to rise and open the window, but some obstacle prevented me.  To my astonishment, though my head was perfectly free to move in any direction, my body was buried in a deep sleep like a lump of lead.  Not a single muscle obeyed my repeated efforts to raise my body; I was conscious of my arms lying extended near me, and my legs being stretched out straight and immovable; but my head was swaying helplessly to and fro.  My breathing, deep and regular—­the breathing of my body went on all the same, and frightened me dreadfully.  My head, exhausted with its vain efforts to obtain obedience from the limbs, fell back in despair, and I said, “What!  Is it paralysis?”

My eyes closed.  I was reflecting with a feeling of horror upon this strange phenomenon, and my ears were listening intently to the agitated beating of my heart, over whose hurried flow of blood the mind had no power.

“What, what is this?” I thought presently.  “Do my own body and limbs refuse to obey my will?  Cannot Caspar Haas, the undisputed lord of so many rich vineyards and fat pastures, move this wretched clod of earth which most certainly belongs to him?  Oh, what does it all mean?”