Iremainedleaningonthewindow-sillfornearlyaquarterofanhour，lookingoutabsentlyintotheblackdarkness，andhearingnothing，exceptnowandthenthevoicesoftheservants，orthedistantsoundofaclosingdoor，inthelowerpartofthehouse。
JustasIwasturningawaywearilyfromthewindowtogobacktothebedroomandmakeasecondattempttocompletetheunfinishedentryinmyjournal，Ismelttheodouroftobacco-smokestealingtowardsmeontheheavynightair。ThenextmomentIsawatinyredsparkadvancingfromthefartherendofthehouseinthepitchdarkness。Iheardnofootsteps，andIcouldseenothingbutthespark。Ittravelledalonginthenight，passedthewindowatwhichIwasstanding，andstoppedoppositemybedroomwindow，insidewhichIhadleftthelightburningonthedressing-table。
Thesparkremainedstationaryforamoment，thenmovedbackagaininthedirectionfromwhichithadadvanced。AsIfolloweditsprogressIsawasecondredspark，largerthanthefirst，approachingfromthedistance。Thetwomettogetherinthedarkness。Rememberingwhosmokedcigarettesandwhosmokedcigars，IinferredimmediatelythattheCounthadcomeoutfirsttolookandlistenundermywindow，andthatSirPercivalhadafterwardsjoinedhim。Theymustbothhavebeenwalkingonthelawn——orIshouldcertainlyhaveheardSirPercival’sheavyfootfall，thoughtheCount’ssoftstepmighthaveescapedme，evenonthegravelwalk。
Iwaitedquietlyatthewindow，certainthattheycouldneitherofthemseemeinthedarknessoftheroom。
`What’sthematter？’IheardSirPercivalsayinalowvoice。`Whydon’tyoucomeinandsitdown？’