And the Postmaster had lost his chance. Mlle. Sandoz, a
governess who was invited to supper as payment for a music lesson
given to his boy, seized the opening.
'Last night I dreamed that a bull chased me. Now what did _that_ mean,
I wonder?'
'That there was no danger since it was only a dream!' said the
Postmaster sharply, vexed that he had not told his own.
But no one applauded, for it was the fashion to ignore his
observations, unless they had to do with stamps and weights of
letters, parcels, and the like. A clatter of voices rose, as others,
taking courage, decided to tell experiences of their own; but it was
the Postmaster's wife in the hall who won. She had her meals outside
with the kitchen maid and her niece, who helped in the Post Office,
and she always tried to take part in the conversation from a distance
thus. She plunged into a wordy description of a lengthy dream that had
to do with clouds, three ravens, and a mysterious face. All listened,
most of them in mere politeness, for as cook she was a very important
personage who could furnish special dishes on occasion--but her sister
listened as to an oracle. She nodded her head and made approving
gestures, and said, 'Aha, you see,' or 'Ah, voila!' as though that
helped to prove the importance of the dream, if not its actual truth.
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