The Count of Monte Cristo

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be the smell of time, had in a single day acquired the aspect of life,
was scented with its master's favorite perfumes, and had the very light
regulated according to his wish. When the count arrived, he had
under his touch his books and arms, his eyes rested upon his favorite
pictures; his dogs, whose caresses he loved, welcomed him in the
ante-chamber; the birds, whose songs delighted him, cheered him with
their music; and the house, awakened from its long sleep, like the
sleeping beauty in the wood, lived, sang, and bloomed like the houses we
have long cherished, and in which, when we are forced to leave them,
we leave a part of our souls. The servants passed gayly along the fine
court-yard; some, belonging to the kitchens, gliding down the stairs,
restored but the previous day, as if they had always inhabited the
house; others filling the coach-houses, where the equipages, encased and
numbered, appeared to have been installed for the last fifty years; and
in the stables the horses replied with neighs to the grooms, who spoke
to them with much more respect than many servants pay their masters.