And you had a snooze on the very bed on which his Wife died, did you not? Oh, you sentimental old thing! I did. But I must confess that some queer thoughts passed through my mind as I wandered through those rooms. There used to be such a charming nursery in the mansion, and I felt hurt to see that its windows were all shattered, and that the wind was blowing the dust in clouds over the floor. And there used to be such a lovely little cradle in the room! Now the rats are making _their_ nests in that nursery, and rocking _their_ children to sleep in that cradle. Oh the dear little naked rat-children! [_The Old Women chuckle._] And on a table in the study, I saw some broken toys--a little horse without a tail, a pasteboard helmet, and a red-nosed clown doll. I played with them each in turn, and tried on the helmet. It would have suited me well enough if it had only been a trifle less mouldy and covered with dust. And surely you paid a visit to the grand _salon_ where the ball was given that night? What a gay scene it was! Yes, I went in there too. But judge of my surprise when I found it in darkness, with the windows broken, and the wind whistling round the cornices! Ah! That would serve as music. Yes, of course. And the walls were all lined with guests--with guests sitting there in the darkness! You should have seen how queer they looked! We can imagine it. And you should have heard them ejaculating with their old wheedling lips, "How rich it all is! How sumptuous!" Oh, you are joking! Yes, I am only joking. You know my playful disposition. How "rich" indeed, how "sumptuous," everything must have looked when you went in! Man, do you remember the tune that played at your ball? Ah! he is near his death now. Do you remember how the dancers surrounded you, and how tenderly, how bewitchingly, the music played? It played like this. [_The Old Women form a semicircle around the Man, and begin softly to hum the tune which was played at his ball._] Let us have a ball ourselves. It is so long since, I had a dance! Very well. "Imagine this to be a palace--a supernaturally beautiful palace." First of all we must call the musicians. One cannot have a proper ball without music. The musicians? Yes, certainly. Do you not remember them? [_The Old Women give a shrill cry, and instantly there are seen coming down the ladder the same three musicians who played at the Man's ball. The fiddler folds a handkerchief on his shoulder, to form a pad for his fiddle, and they begin to play with extraordinary energy. Yet the music is soft and low, as in a dream._] Now we can have our ball! "How rich it all is!" "How sumptuous!" "How brilliant!" Do you remember it, Man?