Arátoff awoke all in a tremble. It was not dark in the room…. A faint and melancholy light streamed from somewhere or other, impassively illuminating all objects. Arátoff did not try to account to himself for the light…. He felt but one thing: Clara was there in that room … he felt her presence … he was again and forever in her power!
A shriek burst from his lips: "Clara, art thou here?"
"Yes!" rang out clearly in the middle of the room illuminated with the motionless light.
Arátoff doubly repeated his question….
"Yes!" was audible once more.
"Then I want to see thee!" he cried, springing out of bed.
For several moments he stood in one spot, treading the cold floor with his bare feet. His eyes roved: "But where? Where?" whispered his lips….
Nothing was to be seen or heard.
He looked about him, and noticed that the faint light which filled the room proceeded from a night-light, screened by a sheet of paper, and placed in one corner, probably by Platósha while he was asleep. He even detected the odour of incense also, in all probability, the work of her hands.
He hastily dressed himself. Remaining in bed, sleeping, was not to be thought of.—Then he took up his stand in the centre of the room and folded his arms. The consciousness of Clara's presence was stronger than ever within him.