Through the window she saw the apse of the cathedral, almost white, and it seemed to her as if it were the reflection of this whiteness which entered her room, like the light of the dawn, fresh and pure.

The whitewashed walls and beams, all this blank nudity was increased by it, enlarged, and moved back as if it were unreal as a dream.
She still recognised, however, the old, dark, oaken furniture--the wardrobe, the chest and the chairs, with the shining edges of their elaborate carvings.

The bedstead alone--this great square, royal couch--seemed new to her, as if she saw it for the first time, with its high columns supporting its canopy of old-fashioned, rose-tinted cretonne, now bathed with such a sheet of deep moonlight that she half thought she was on a cloud in the midst of the heavens, borne along by a flight of silent, invisible wings.

For a moment she felt the full swinging of it; it did not seem at all strange or unnatural to her.

But her sight soon grew accustomed to the reality; her bed was again in its usual corner, and she was in it, not moving her head, her eyes alone turning from side to side, as she lay in the midst of this lake of beaming rays, with the bouquet of violets upon her lips.
Why was it that she was thus in a state of waiting?
Why could she not sleep?
She was sure that she expected someone.