'What a big night!' thought Siegmund. 'The night gathers everything into
a oneness. I wonder what is in it.' He leaned forward over the balcony, trying to catch something out of the
night. He felt his soul like tendrils stretched out anxiously to grasp a
hold. What could he hold to in this great, hoarse breathing night? A
star fell. It seemed to burst into sight just across his eyes with a
yellow flash. He looked up, unable to make up his mind whether he had
seen it or not. There was no gap in the sky.

'It is a good sign--a shooting star,' he said to himself. 'It is a good
sign for me. I know I am right. That was my sign.' Having assured himself, he stepped indoors, unpacked his bag, and was
soon in bed.

'This is a good bed,' he said. 'And the sheets are very fresh.' He lay for a little while with his head bending forwards, looking from
his pillow out at the stars, then he went to sleep.

At half past six in the morning he suddenly opened his eyes.

'What is it?' he asked, and almost without interruption answered: 'Well,
I've got to go through it.' His sleep had shaped him perfect premonition, which, like a dream, he
forgot when he awoke. Only this naïve question and answer betrayed what
had taken place in his sleep. Immediately he awoke this subordinate
knowledge vanished.