Gerzson felt that if he looked much longer, he would become moonstruck
himself.
Slowly divesting himself of his _bunda_, and after knocking the burning
ashes out of his pipe, he noiselessly quitted the bee-house, traversed
the garden and sprang over the fence at a single bound. Then he stole
along in the shadow of the poplar avenue leading up to the castle till
he stood beneath the moon-lit window, climbed, like a veritable lunatic
on to the projecting stones of the old bastion, and gazed from thence,
at closer quarters, at the regularly recurring shadow.
But not even now was he content, but began to break off little portions
of the mouldering mortar and cautiously throw them at the window. When
one of these little fragments of mortar rattled against the glass the
whole window was quickly obscured by a shadow as if the night wanderer
had rushed to it in order to look out. Gerzson felt absolutely certain
that he must be observed for there he stood clinging fast on to the
moulding. A few moments afterwards the shadow disappeared suddenly from
the window and again the moonlight shone uninterruptedly through it.
Gerzson determined to remain where he was, to see what would come of it.
In a short time the shadow reappeared in front of the moonlight, the
window was silently and very slightly raised, and through the slit
fluttered a rolled up piece of paper.
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