There is another sound in the room now-a sound no one could have noticed before, it is so small and monotonous-the sound of even breathing. It comes from the great oak bed by the wall and the chair rocked close to the (5) grate. Hearing it makes the room seem stiller and warmer. The fire shifts suddenly, throwing a gay flare on the face of the drowser before it, and the procession of dull-blue peacocks that parade the ivory chintz of the deep (10) chairs and tall curtains. From the bed comes an indistinguishable sleepy sound that, finding itself nonsense, stops, and a little later begins again, this time enough waked up to be in words. (15)