The Mesmerist's Victim

“Are you convinced that she sleeps?”

“That is plain but, good God! how strange is this sleep,” said Philip.

“I will question her; or since you fear I may put some inapt question to her, do so yourself.”

“But though I have spoken to her and touched her just now, she did not appear to hear me or heed me.”

“You were not in continuity with her: I will place you in contact.”

He joined the hands of brother and sister, and at once Andrea smiled and murmured:

“It is you, brother.”

“She knows you and will answer: question.”

“But if she did not remember awake, how can she when sleeping?”

“A mystery of science.”

Sighing, he sat in an armchair in the corner.

Philip was motionless, thinking how to begin, when as if responding to his reflections, Andrea, with her face clouding like his own, said:

“You are right, brother, it is a sad affliction to the family.”

Philip had not expected that she could translate his very mind and he shuddered.

“Make her speak, sir,” suggested Balsamo.

“How?”

“By willing that she shall do so.”

Philip looked at his sister while mentally formulating an inquiry and she blushed.

“Oh, Philip, how unkind of you to believe that Andrea would deceive you.”

“Then you love nobody?”

“Not one.”

“But there was an accomplice, the guilty person who must be punished.”

“I do not understand you, brother.”

“You must press her,” said Balsamo: “question her bluntly, without heed of her modesty, for when awakened she will recall nothing of this.”

“But can she answer such questions?”

“Mark,” said Balsamo: “Do you see?”

She started at the sound of his voice and turned towards him.

“Not so clearly as if you were speaking,” she replied: “but still I do see.”

“Then tell me what you see on the night of your fainting.”

“Why do you not commence by the night of the 31st of May, sir? Your suspicions start at that point, methinks? this is the time for all to be made clear.”

“No, my lord,” rejoined Philip: “it is useless: I now believe in your word of honor. He who disposes of so wondrous a power would not act in an ignoble way. Sister,” repeated he, “relate to me what happened on the night when you swooned.”

“I do not remember.”

“I suppose as she was asleep – ”

“Her spirit was awake,” said Balsamo, and holding out his hand to the obstinate medium with a frown indicating a doubling of will and action, he said:

“Remember – I will it!”

“I see myself,” said Andrea. “I hold in hand the glass prepared by Nicole. Oh, goodness! the wretch! she has put some drug in the water and if I drink, I am lost. I am going to drink it at the moment the count calls – ”

“What count?”

“There,” and Andrea pointed to Balsamo. “I set down the glass and I fall into the sleep. I go forth to meet him under my window in the linden grove.”

“The count never was in the same room with you, sister?”

“Never.”

“You see, sir?” said Balsamo.

“You say you went to meet the count?”

“Oh, I obey him when he calls.”

“What did he want?”

Andrea turned towards the third person, questioningly.

“Tell it, for I am not listening,” said Balsamo, burying his face in his hands to prevent the voice coming to him.

“He wanted news,” said Andrea in a diminishing voice, not to torture the count’s heart, “of a person who fled from his house and who is – now – dead.”

“Faintly as she breathed the last word, Balsamo heard it, or guessed it was spoken, for he uttered a gloomy sob.

“Proceed,” said he as a long silence fell: “your brother wants to know all and he must know it. After the man obtained the information he sought, what did he do?”

“He went away, leaving me in the garden, where I fell as he departed as though the sustaining force had vanished with him. I was still in the sleep, a leaden one. A man came out of the bushes, took me in his arms and carried me up into my rooms where he placed me on the sofa. Oh,” she said with scorn and disgust, “it is that little Gilbert again.”