“The next thing I remember was waking with a start.  It seemed to me that some one had shut the door between my room and Braun’s.  I felt for the matches.  The match-box was empty.  Up to that moment—­I cannot tell why—­something—­an unaccountable dread—­had prevented me looking at the door.  I made an effort and looked.  It was shut, and through the cracks and through the keyhole I saw the glimmer of a light.  Braun had lit his candle.  I called him, not very loudly:  there was no answer.  I called again more loudly:  there was still no answer.

“Then I got out of bed and walked to the door.  As I went, it was gently and slightly opened, just enough to show me a thin streak of light.  At that moment I felt that some one was looking at me.  Then it was instantly shut once more, as softly as it had been opened.  There was not a sound to be heard.  I walked on tiptoe towards the door, but it seemed to me that I had taken a hundred years to cross the room.  And when at last I reached the door I felt I could not open it.  I was simply paralysed with fear.  And still I saw the glimmer through the key-hole and the cracks.

“Suddenly, as I was standing transfixed with fright in front of the door, I heard sounds coming from Braun’s room, a shuffle of footsteps, and voices talking low but distinctly in a language I could not understand.  It was not Italian, Spanish, nor French.  The voices grew all at once louder; I heard the noise of a struggle and a cry which ended in a stifled groan, very painful and horrible to hear.  Then, whether I regained my self-control, or whether it was excess of fright which prompted me, I don’t know, but I flew to the door and tried to open it.  Some one or something was pressing with all its might against it.  Then I screamed at the top of my voice, and as I screamed I heard the cock crow.

“The door gave, and I almost fell into Braun’s room.  It was quite dark.  But Braun was waked by my screams and quietly lit a match.  He asked me gently what on earth was the matter.  The room was empty and everything was in its place.  Outside the first greyness of dawn was in the sky.

“I said I had had a nightmare, and asked him if he had not had one as well; but Braun said he had never slept better in his life.

“The next day we went on with our walking tour, and when we got back to Heidelberg Braun sailed for America.  I never saw him again, although we corresponded frequently, and only last week I had a letter from him, dated Nijni Novgorod, saying he would be at Moscow before the end of the month.

“And now I suppose you are all wondering what this can have to do with anything that’s in the newspaper.  Well, listen,” and he read out the following paragraph from the Rouskoe Slovo:—­