It was no longer quite right, and was getting out of
drawing and perspective, so to speak. I had lost my stay--the touch
of her hand.
"Are you still dreaming true, Mr. Ibbetson?"
"I am afraid not quite," I replied.
"You must try by yourself a little--try hard. Look at this house; what
is written on the portico?"
I saw written in gold letters the words, "Tete Noire," and said so.
[Illustration]
She rippled with laughter, and said, "No; try again"; and just touched
me with the tip of her finger for a moment.
I tried again and said, "Parvis Notre Dame."
"That's rather better," she said, and touched me again; and I read,
"Parva sed Apta," as I had so often read there before in old days.
"And now look at that old house over there," pointing to my old home;
"how many windows are there in the top story?"
I said seven.
"No; there are five. Look again!" and there were five; and the whole
house was exactly, down to its minutest detail, as it had been once upon
a time. I could see Therese through one of the windows, making my bed.
"That's better," said the duchess; "you will soon do it--it's very
easy--_ce n'est que le premier pas!_ My father taught me; you must
always sleep on your back with your arms above your head, your hands
clasped under it and your feet crossed, the right one over the left,
unless you are left-handed; and you must never for a moment cease
thinking of where you want to be in your dream till you are asleep and
get there; and you must never forget in your dream where and what you
were when awake.
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