Ferragut, finding himself alone, felt more strongly than ever the effects of the intoxication that was dominating him, the intoxication of a temperate man overcome by the intense surprise of novelty.
For a moment he had a forlorn idea of going to his boat.

He needed to give orders, to contend with somebody; but the weakness of his knees pushed him toward his hotel and he flung himself face downward on the bed,--whilst his hat rolled on the floor,--content with the sobriety with which he had reached his room without attracting the attention of the servants.
He fell asleep immediately, but scarcely had night fallen before his eyes opened again, or at least he believed that they opened, seeing everything under a light which was not that of the sun.
Some one had entered the room, and was coming on tiptoe towards his bed.

Ulysses, who was not able to move, saw out of the tail of one eye that what was approaching was a woman and that this woman appeared to be Freya.

Was it really she ?...
She had the same countenance, the blonde hair, the black and oriental eyes, the same oval face.

It was Freya and it was not, just as twins exactly alike physically, nevertheless have an indefinable something which differentiates them.
The vague thoughts which for some time past had been slowly undermining his subconsciousness with dull, subterranean labor, now cleared the air with explosive force.