She smiled, and after a minute, replied: "I think we ought to be grateful that we have come unharmed out of all our adventures, whether they were real or only a dream."
"Are you quite sure of that?" he asked.
"Just as sure as I am that the reality of one night, let alone that of a whole lifetime, is not the whole truth."
"And no dream," he said with a slight sigh, "is entirely a dream."
She took his head and pillowed it on her breast. "Now I suppose we are awake," she said,—"for a long time to come."
He was on the point of saying, "Forever," but before he could speak, she laid her finger on his lips and whispered, as if to herself: "Never inquire into the future."
So they lay silently, dozing a little, dreamlessly, close to one another—until, as on every morning at seven, there was a knock on the door; and, with the usual noises from the street, a victorious ray of light through the opening of the curtain, and the clear laughter of a child through the door, the new day began.
THE END