Casanova could no longer lie quiet; a vigorous impulse towards movement gripped him, and lured him into the open.

The song of the birds called to him; the cool breeze of early morning played upon his brow.

Softly he opened the door and moved cautiously down the stairs.

Cunning, from long experience, he was able to avoid making the old staircase creak.

The lower flight, leading to the ground floor, was of stone.