Her room, however, was at the far end of the corridor, and she sometimes went down by the servants’ stairs without my hearing her. What I really was listening for was Aiglon’s ascent. At midnight, I was still listening. And at one o’clock in the morning. It was some time after two when his stumbling steps along the corridor roused me from a fitful sleep. He was singing rather loudly. I heard his faithful valet open his bedroom door and try to shush him. This disgusting display hardened further my heart against Aiglon, but as I lay in the darkness listening, the insidious thought arose that perhaps drunkenness was his only sin. Drink might have led him into that duel and be accountable for his being a traitor as well. It was bad, but not as bad as willfully selling out his country. At breakfast the next morning, Rachel bluntly informed me that I looked like “something the cat had dragged in.” Such was my mood that I replied with equal frankness that she looked like death warmed-over herself.
