At last he was aware that the nature of the light in the room was changing
and that the white ground glass of the lantern was illuminated otherwise
than by the little flame within. The high window, as he looked up, was
like a grey figure cut out of dark paper, and the dawn was stealing in at
last.
"Wednesday at last!" he exclaimed softly to himself. "Wednesday at last!"
A gentle smile spread over his tired face, and made it seem less haggard
and drawn than it really was.
The day broke, and somewhere not far from the window, the birds all began
to sing at once, filling the room with a continuous strain of sound, loud,
clear and jubilant. The soft spring air seemed to awake, as though it had
itself been sleeping through the still night and must busy itself now in
sending the sweet breezes upon their errands to the flowers.
"I always thought it would come in spring," thought the Count, as he
listened to the pleasant sounds, and then held one of his yellow hands up
to the window to feel the freshness that was without.
He wondered how long it would be before Fischelowitz would come and tell
the truth of the Gigerl's story. By his knowledge of the time of daybreak,
he guessed that it was not yet much past four o'clock, and he doubted
whether Fischelowitz would come before eight. The tobacconist was a kind
man, but a comfortable one, loving his rest and his breakfast and his ease
at all times. Moreover, as the Count knew better than any one else,
Akulina would be rejoiced to hear of the misadventure which had befallen
her enemy and would in no way hurry her husband upon his mission of
justice.
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