Paula suffered Veronika and her maid to put her to bed. She seemed not to notice them. She was thinking--far away. Out of habit she listened a moment for the piano above. But all was silent. "He is happy," she said to herself; "he has gone with his friends. Or perhaps he is up there living it all over again." And her imagination, touched anew with the old obstinate insanity, took the road up to his never-seen chamber, bent over him, and rejoiced with him. "Oh, if I could--" she said; "if I could! But he will never know how a dying noble lady used to listen to his playing in the dead of night, and loved him, and left him her blessing--" Veronika had no sleep that night. Before day the doctor was summoned. He remained several hours. At going he drew Veronika aside, and by signs succeeded at last in procuring from her the package of letters the Countess had once shown him. He looked at the superscriptions, and took from among them one "To the Abbé S----." That evening he brought with him a white-haired old man in priestly garb, whom Veronika was relieved to hear address her in her native tongue. Presently, with muffled footsteps and a frightened, solemn mien, she led him into the Countess's bedroom, dimly lighted by shaded candles, and left them long alone together. Prospero, returning home that night, opened the window wide and stood a moment looking out at the stars, at peace with life, every desire for the moment hushed, satisfied. Then he lighted the candles on the piano, and the faint yellow illumination brought out a hint of color in the objects around. It showed an ordinary, rather bare room; he lived in it very little. The littering music and the piano formed its chief adornment. He sat down, but for a moment did not touch the keys. He removed the flower from his coat and smelt it, thinking of Rosina, who had given it him at the theatre door--Rosina with the broad velvet-faced hat, the tight silk dress, the diamonds in her ears, and the small basket of flowers on her arm. She was pretty--oh, pretty! Having thought how pretty she was, he wisely tossed away her faded favor, determining to remain cold and prudent. He shook back his hair, as if thereby to free his mind of her, spread his hands over the ivory keys, and began, as he loved to do before sleeping, to let his fancies and emotions make themselves sound.