"Do not be afraid. Tell me--where was it that you saw me?" "I saw you in a dream." "A dream? Monsieur! To hear you speak--it is like a poem. Monsieur, where did you dream this dream in which you dreamt of me?" "It was last year, at Spa." "At Spa--that horrible place?" "I did not find it a horrible place." "No? Was it that dream which you dreamt of me which robbed it of its horror?" He did not speak. He allowed her to infer a compliment, but he did not proffer one. "But Monsieur, I was only at Spa one afternoon and a single night." "It was that night I dreamed of you." "You dreamed? How? Tell me about this dream." "I dreamed that you came into my room while I was asleep in bed, and kissed me!" She continued to look at him intently a moment longer, as if she did not realize the full meaning of his words. Then--let us do her justice!--the blood rushed to her face, her cheeks flamed fiery red. With her hands she veiled her eyes. She gave a little cry. "_Ah, mon Dieu!_ It was you--I remember. _Quelle horreur!_" There was silence. Before she removed her hands from her eyes she turned away. She stood with her back towards him, trifling with a brush which he had placed upon the table. She spoke scarcely above a whisper. "Monsieur, I thought you were asleep." "I was asleep. I saw you in a dream." "Then did--did I wake you?" "You must have done. I woke--you must forgive my saying so--with a kiss tingling on my lips." The lady put her hands up to her eyes again. "The dream had been so vivid I could not understand it. I got up to see if anyone was in the room." "If you had caught me!" "There was no one. But so acutely had your face impressed itself on my imagination that I took my sketch-book, and made a drawing of it then and there. In the morning I showed this drawing to a friend. He advised me to use it for a picture I did. That picture is 'A Vision of the Night'!"