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Towards Christmas time, in the year 1780, as I lay soundly sleeping in my room at the Swan Tavern, in Tuebingen, old Gideon Sperver burst suddenly into my room, crying, "Gaston, my boy, I have come to take you back with me to the Castle! You know Nideck, twenty miles from here, -- the estate of my master, the Count of Nideck!"
My failure to respond was perhaps due to the fact that I had not seen my worthy foster-father for twenty years, that in this time he had grown a full beard, and that now, in my half-aroused condition, he appeared before me thus, with a huge fur cap pulled down over his ears, and holding an ill-smelling lantern just under my nose.