The Count of Monte Cristo

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rose to his seat, and found himself lying on his bournous in a bed of
dry heather, very soft and odoriferous. The vision had fled; and as if
the statues had been but shadows from the tomb, they had vanished at
his waking. He advanced several paces towards the point whence the light
came, and to all the excitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of
reality. He found that he was in a grotto, went towards the opening, and
through a kind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and
water were shining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the
sailors were sitting, chatting and laughing; and at ten yards from them
the boat was at anchor, undulating gracefully on the water. There for
some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his brow, and
listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, that left against the
rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for some time without
reflection or thought for the divine charm which is in the things of
nature, specially after a fantastic dream; then gradually this view
of the outer world, so calm, so pure, so grand, reminded him of the
illusiveness of his vision, and once more awakened memory. He recalled