But as he was a madman only about the heart of a maid, and not a depraved man, he was at times possessed by a tenderness so great that if his summons were productive of any results he might not pass the bounds of transgression. But these were transient moments; after which, straining the whole strength of his will and the sight of his closely set eyes in the direction of Marynia's sleeping chamber he said and commanded: "Rise!--do not light the candles--do not awaken your sister--open the door quietly and walk in darkness on the path of my thoughts until you come to me, to my arms, to my bosom!" And he imagined that at any moment he would behold her, resembling that alabaster statuette, entering with the mechanical step of a somnambulist in a single gown, silvery, dreamy, with head tilted backward, with closed eyes and opened lips drinking the lustre of the moon which shone in the windows. Afterwards he listened in the silence and, concentrating yet more powerfully his will, he repeated again with emphasis as if each word was chiselled out of stone: "Rise! do not light the candles--do not waken your sister--open the door--go on the path of my thoughts--and come!" Horrible indeed would have been the fate of the young lady were it not for one fortunate circumstance, and that was that she never dreamt of rising, opening the door, going on the path of his thoughts, etc. On the contrary, she slept as peacefully as if an angel had bent over her and with the movements of her wings had driven away from her disquieting and feverish dreams. The little household fairies of Jastrzeb, such as those about which she spoke to Gronski, also did not disturb her repose. Perhaps some of them chased the moths from the windows in order that they might not make any noise by striking the window-panes; perhaps others, climbing the curtains and window sashes, gazed at her from a distance with their keen little eyes and whispered to each other: "Sleep, little maiden, who played for us on the violin--sleep--hush--let us not waken her." And though a desire to turn the pins of the violin and touch the chords with their tiny fingers may have taken hold of them, they did not, however, do so, through honesty and hospitality. Through the openings of the shutters the moonlight streamed in, brightening the interior and slowly advancing on the opposite wall. The silence was great; only somewhere beyond the house the night-watch on the premises whistled; while within the house the old standing clock, which measured the lives of several generations, continued to speak with resignation the "Tick!--Tack!--Tick!" of the seconds sinking into the past.