midnight
Paul assented . He was breathing deeply of the sweet humid air , pungent with a thousand fresh scents and the intoxicating fragrance of rain-kissed loam . The sound of greedily drinking plant things arose from the hillside . Beyond the purple heath hung the midnight curtain , embroidered fitfully with silver , and he removed his hat that the cool breeze might touch him . Hatless he was magnificently picturesque ; Antinöus spared to maturity ; the nature-worshipper within him stirred to quickness by magic perfumes arising from the breast of Mother Earth , he resembled that wonderful statue of the Bithynian which shows him as Dionysus the Twice-born , son of the raincloud , lover of the verdure . `` The world , '' said Jules Thessaly , `` is waiting for you . '' Through his abstract Orphic dreams the words reached Paul 's mind ; and they were oddly familiar .