That same night, being unable to sleep, she turned over in her bed, and threw back the bed-clothes.

She felt that sleep was still far off, that it would come with the first rays, full of dancing atoms of dust, with which morning pierces the chinks between the curtains.

The night-light, with its tiny burning heart shining through its porcelain shade, gave her a mystic and familiar companionship.

Felicie opened her eyes and at a glance drank in the white milky glimmer which brought her peace of mind.

Then, closing them once more, she relapsed into the tumultuous weariness of insomnia.