noon
How many times she had pained her father with a storm of tears , the cause of which she could not tell , because she herself knew not ! The knowledge of painting , in which she also excelled , turned her inclinations towards light and a wide outlook , and this equally contributed to make her long for the rooms in the tower . When once she had taken her quarters there with her piano , her paints , and her novels , Maria looked upon herself as the most fortunate girl on earth . If at noon of some magnificent sunny day , under an effulgent azure sky , she opened all the windows of her boudoir and admitted the fresh , keen wind which toyed with her hair and scattered the papers from the table over the floor , she imagined with delight that she had mounted upon a star , and that she was in the midst of space , swimming through the air at the mercy of every chance . And this illusion , though it was hard for her to keep it up , made her happy . Sometimes at night she used to open the blinds and light not only her lamp , but all the candles in the candlesticks , so as to imagine that she was stationed in a lofty lighthouse . `` From the river this tower must seem like a beacon , and my room the lamp which has just been lighted , '' was what she used to say , in childish delight .