He often closed his lids and endeavored to recall his youth;--he beheld the courtyard of a castle, with greyhounds stretched out on a terrace, an armoury filled with valets, and under a bower of vines a youth with blond curls, sitting between an old man wrapped in furs and a lady with a high cap; presently the corpses rose before him, and then he would throw himself face downward on his cot and sob: "Oh! poor father! poor mother! poor mother!" and would drop into a fitful slumber in which the terrible visions recurred.
One night he thought that some one was calling to him in his sleep.

He listened intently, but could hear nothing save the roaring of the waters.
But the same voice repeated: "Julian!" It proceeded from the opposite shore, fact which appeared extraordinary to him, considering the breadth of the river.
The voice called a third time: "Julian!" And the high-pitched tones sounded like the ringing of a church-bell.
Having lighted his lantern, he stepped out of his cabin.

A frightful storm raged.

The darkness was complete and was illuminated here and there only by the white waves leaping and tumbling.
After a moment's hesitation, he untied the rope.

The water presently grew smooth and the boat glided easily to the opposite shore, where a man was waiting.
He was wrapped in a torn piece of linen; his face was like a chalk mask, and his eyes were redder than glowing coals.