The rank odor of tobacco, stealing up the stairs, told him that Brossard had settled down to enjoy his evening pipe.

Through the casement window that was still ajar came the faint notes of an accordeon from Monsieur Greville's garden, across the way.
Gabriel, the coachman, was walking up and down in the moonlight, playing a wheezy accompaniment to the only song he knew.

Jules did not notice it at first, but after awhile, when he had cried himself quiet, the faint melody began to steal soothingly into his consciousness.

His eyelids closed drowsily, and then the accordeon seemed to be singing something to him.

He could not understand at first, but just as he was dropping off to sleep he heard it quite clearly: "Till the stars and the angels come to keep Their watch, where my baby lies fast asleep." Late in the night Jules awoke with a start, and sat up, wondering what had aroused him.