Darkly mysterious in his long black cape, Bela Lugosi stands on the staircase and cocks his head slightly. "Listen to them -- the children of the night," he says with a smile playing on his lips. "What music they make!"
We were both silent for a while, and as I looked towards the window I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything. But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said:
"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"