It was horrible to see my good-natured companion pursue his occupation so serenely, when he might have dissipated my horrors by a single shake. I made a stupendous exertion to call out, but in vain; I repeated the effort again and again, with no result. My companion now tied up his letters, and looked out of the window, humming an air from an opera. He drew back his head, and said, turning to me: "Yes, I see the lights; we shall be there in two or three minutes." He looked more closely at me, and with a kind smile, and a little shrug, he said, "Poor child! how fatigued he must have been--how profoundly he sleeps! when the carriage stops he will waken." He then replaced his letters in the box-box, locked it, put his spectacles in his pocket, and again looked out of the window. We had entered a little town. I suppose it was past two o'clock by this time. The carriage drew up, I saw an inn-door open, and a light issuing from it. "Here we are!" said my companion, turning gaily to me. But I did not awake. "Yes, how tired he must have been!" he exclaimed, after he had waited for an answer. My servant was at the carriage door, and opened it. "Your master sleeps soundly, he is so fatigued! It would be cruel to disturb him. You and I will go in, while they change the horses, and take some refreshment, and choose something that Monsieur Beckett will like to take in the carriage, for when he awakes by-and-by, he will, I am sure, be hungry." He trimmed his lamp, poured in some oil; and taking care not to disturb me, with another kind smile and another word of caution to my servant he got out, and I heard him talking to St. Clair, as they entered the inn-door, and I was left in my corner, in the carriage, in the same state. Chapter VIII A THREE MINUTES' VISIT I have suffered extreme and protracted bodily pain, at different periods of my life, but anything like that misery, thank God, I never endured before or since. I earnestly hope it may not resemble any type of death to which we are liable. I was, indeed, a spirit in prison; and unspeakable was my dumb and unmoving agony. The power of thought remained clear and active. Dull terror filled my mind. How would this end? Was it actual death? You will understand that my faculty of observing was unimpaired. I could hear and see anything as distinctly as ever I did in my life. It was simply that my will had, as it were, lost its hold of my body. I told you that the Marquis d'Harmonville had not extinguished his carriage lamp on going into this village inn. I was listening intently, longing for his return, which might result, by some lucky accident, in awaking me from my catalepsy. Without any sound of steps approaching, to announce an arrival, the carriage-door suddenly opened, and a total stranger got in silently and shut the door.