One day I felt a peculiar sensation. It seemed to me that my intellectual faculties became more active, while those of my body appeared to sink.
“Come,” said I to the demon who had wearied me so much; “come, you troublesome little devil, and show me my man Lancey. I can see better than usual; present him!”
Immediately Lancey stood by my side. He looked wonderfully real, and I noticed that the fiery frame was not round him as it used to be. A moment later, the pretty face of Ivanka also glided into the picture.
“Hallo!” I exclaimed, “I didn’t ask you to send her here. Why don’t you wait for orders—eh?”
At this Lancey gently pushed Ivanka away.
“No, don’t do that,” I cried hastily; “I didn’t mean that; order her back again—do you hear?”
Lancey appeared to beckon, and she returned. She was weeping quietly.
“Why do you weep, dear?” I asked in Russian.
“Oh! you have been so ill,” she replied, with an anxious look and a sob.
“So, then,” I said, looking at Lancey in surprise, “you are not delusions!”