Florence looked at him, her eyes dulled. She seemed to hear vaguely what he said. Fatigue and anguish appeared to have reduced her to a condition of semiconsciousness. Yet, behind the ivory mask of her face, her emotions were tearing at her senses. Her fingers moved spasmodically in her lap, her lips twitched, and the taut posture of her shoulders seemed to hold a hidden scream. Dr. Lytton leaned slowly forward and took her hand.
“I would like to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.
She moved her hand tiredly over her eyes.
“What do you want?”
“Look at me,” the pathologist demanded quietly. “And sleep.”
De Medici frowned. Hypnosis! The doctor was placing her under a sleep. His gleaming eyes were fastened unwaveringly on the face of the weary, anguish-ridden girl.
Norton raised his hand to object.
“A confession will be easy ... if there is one to be gotten,” Dr. Lytton anticipated him. Lowering his voice, he repeated the word, “sleep ... sleep....”
The figure of Florence Ballau underwent a curious change. The tension of her body slowly relaxed. Her eyes that had veiled the wildness of her thought grew large, calm and centered.
“Asleep,” murmured Dr. Lytton. The three men sat looking at her with amazement.