But these phantoms each held his head in his hand, and shaking it by the hair, bespattered him with drops of blood.

Some brandished whips, some knives: each threatened Charles with his instrument of torture.

Pursued by the nocturnal train, the hapless man opened his mouth for one mighty cry, but his breath was gone, and it died upon his lips.

Then he beheld his mother stretching out her arms from afar, and he fancied that if he could but reach her he would be safe.

But at each step the path grew more and more narrow, pieces of his flesh were torn off by the approaching walls; at last, breathless, naked and bleeding, he reached his goal; but his mother glided farther away, and it was all to begin over again.