I plainly see the interior of the common room where I lie.

There is the timid innkeeper--he polishes his glasses and bottles, casting ever and anon a scared glance in my direction.

Groups of men look in at the door, and, seeing me, hurry away.

I observe all this--I know where I am--yet I am also climbing the steep passes of an Alpine gorge--the cold snow is at my feet--I hear the rush and roar of a thousand torrents.

A crimson cloud floats above the summit of a white glacier--it parts asunder gradually, and in its bright center a face smiles forth! "Nina! my love, my wife, my soul!" I cry aloud.