My purse, a small bunch of keys, my card-case--one by one I drew them out and examined them surprisedly--they looked so familiar, and withal so strange! I searched again; and this time found something of real value to one in my condition--a small box of wax vestas.

Now, had they left me my cigar-case?
No, that was gone.

It was a valuable silver one--no doubt the monk, who attended my supposed last moments, had taken it, together with my watch and chain, to my wife.
Well, I could not smoke, but I could strike a light.

And there was the funeral taper ready for use.

The sun had not yet risen.