When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow.

A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.

And as he slept he dreamed a dream, and this was his dream.

He thought that he was standing in a long, low attic, amidst the whirr and clatter of many looms.

The meagre daylight peered in through the grated windows, and showed him the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their cases.

Pale, sickly-looking children were crouched on the huge cross-beams.

As the shuttles dashed through the warp they lifted up the heavy battens, and when the shuttles stopped they let the battens fall and pressed the threads together.

Their faces were pinched with famine, and their thin hands shook and trembled.

Some haggard women were seated at a table sewing.

A horrible odour filled the place.