The sheets were coarse, the multitudinous clothes were weighty without being warm, but no prince on his bed of roses ever rested with more luxury of repose than did this young adventurer as, drawing the blankets to his chin, he stretched his limbs with the slow, delicious enjoyment born of long travel.
Jean had drawn the cretonne curtains, but through their chinks streaks of bluish, shadowy light presaged the coming day.

From his lair the boy looked out at these ghostly fingers of the morning, then his eyes travelled round the dark room until at last they rested upon his clothes lying, as he had thrown them, on the floor.

He looked at them--the boots, the coat and trousers, the heavy overcoat--and suddenly some imperative thought banished sleep from his eyes.

He sat up in bed; he shivered as the cold air nipped his shoulder; then, unhesitatingly, he slipped from between the sheets and slid out upon the floor.
The room was small; the clothes lay within an arm's length.

He shivered again, stooped, and, picking up the overcoat, dived his hand into the deep pocket, and drew forth the packet that he had guarded so tenaciously in the train.
For a moment he stood looking at it in the blue light of the dawn--a thick brown packet, seven or eight inches long, tied with string and sealed.