In fact she soon uttered a low hissing soud, then she jumped out of her bed.
The man evidently stopped where he was.
"Is it you, Guillaume?" she asked in a whisper.
"Yes,"—in an undertone.
I was lying flat on my stomach, my face turned to the wall, as quiet as a mouse. Though young, there was however guile enough in me to make me understand that she had come to make sure of my being asleep. Not wanting to get into more trouble but anxious to know—if possible—what flittering was, I began to breathe softly and slowly, even puffing every now and then as sleeping persons usually do. She patted me lightly, called me by my name, asked me if I wanted to do pi-pi, but seeing that I did not budge, she, was thought I—as our Latin books have it—in Morpheus' arms. She therefore left me and went to meet Guillaume, who—as I surmised—was always standing at the door.
As soon as they were together, they began to whisper in that same low husky, somewhat nasal, tone, but I could not hear what they
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