But to-day (the morning after the Star Cave adventure) the old lady was calmer, almost soothed, and at supper she was composed and gentle. Sleep, for some reason, had marvellously refreshed her. Attacks that opened as usual about Cornish Cream or a Man with a long Beard, she repelled easily and quietly. 'I've told you that story before, my dear; I know I have.' It seemed her mind and memory were more orderly somehow. And the Widow Jequier explained how sweet and good-natured she had been all day--better than for years. 'When I took her drops upstairs at eleven o'clock I found her tidying her room; she was sorting her bills and papers. She read me a letter she had written to her nephew to come out and take her home--well written and quite coherent. I've not known her mind so clear for months. Her memory, too. She said she had slept so well. If only it would last, _helas_!' 'There _are_ days like that,' she added presently, 'days when everything goes right and easily. One wakes up happy in the morning and sees only the bright side of things. Hope is active, and one has new courage somehow.' She spoke with feeling, her face was brighter, clearer, her mind less anxious. She had planned a visit to the Bank Manager about the mortgages. It had come as an inspiration. It might be fruitless, but she was hopeful, and so knew a little peace. 'I wonder why it is,' she added, 'and what brings these changes into the heart so suddenly.' 'Good sleep and sound digestion,' Mrs. Campden thought. She expressed her views deliberately like this in order to counteract any growth of fantasy in the children. 'But it is strange,' her husband said, remembering his new story; 'it may be much deeper than that. While the body sleeps the spirit may get into touch with helpful forces----' His French failed him. He wumbled painfully. 'Thought-forces possibly from braver minds,' put in Rogers. 'Who knows? Sleep and dreaming have never really been explained.' He recalled a theory of Minks. '_I_ dream a great deal,' Miss Waghorn observed, eager to take part. 'It's delightful, dreaming--if only one could remember!' She looked round the table with challenge in her eager old eyes. But no one took her up. It involved such endless repetition of well-known stories. The Postmaster might have said a word--he looked prepared--but, not understanding English, he went on with his salad instead. 'Life is a dream,' observed Monkey, while Jinny seemed uncertain whether she should laugh or take it seriously. The Widow Jequier overheard her. There was little she did not overhear. 'Coquine!' she said, then quoted with a sentimental sigh:-- La vie est breve, Un peu d'amour. Un peu de rive Et puis--bonjour! She hung her head sideways a moment for effect. There was a pause all down the long table.