But my senses were clear--the tangled chain of my disordered thoughts became even and connected--my previous mad excitement gradually calmed, and I began to consider my condition.
I had certainly been buried alive--there was no doubt of that.

Intense pain had, I suppose, resolved itself into a long trance of unconsciousness--the people of the inn where I had been taken ill had at once believed me to be dead of cholera, and with the panic-stricken, indecent haste common in all Italy, especially at a time of plague, had thrust me into one of those flimsy coffins which were then being manufactured by scores in Naples--mere shells of thin deal, nailed together with clumsy hurry and fear.

But how I blessed their wretched construction! Had I been laid in a stronger casket, who knows if even the most desperate frenzy of my strength might not have proved unavailing! I shuddered at the thought.

Yet the question remained--Where was I?
I reviewed my case from all points, and for some time could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.

Stay, though! I remembered that I had told the monk my name; he knew that I was the only descendant of the rich Romani family.