Chassaigne nodded again, his smile holding her confidence. As if absent-mindedly, he brought the little mirror in front of him, played with it. He noticed that her eyes fixed themselves instinctively upon it.
“Pretty toy!” he remarked, casually. “It belongs to Doctor Breidenbach I suppose?”
She stared at it in a strange fascination, shuddered suddenly.
“Yes,” she said, with a little gesture before her eyes as though trying to throw off a spell, “yes—I—I think so——”
“A scientific instrument, I presume?” continued Chassaigne, imperturbably, as if merely interested in a curiosity, twirling the support between his fingers so that the mirror rapidly revolved. Imperceptibly he leaned forward, brought it nearer to her eyes. “It suggests sleep, I think,” he continued in a quiet level voice that had suddenly acquired a peculiar intensity. “Sleep. Sleep, Fräulein!”
She stared at it, open-eyed, stiffening curiously. A phrase of protest seemed frozen on her lips.
He held it very close to her face, revolving the mirror in a long-continued series of rapid flashes before her eyes.
“Sleep!” he commanded in his intense level voice.
Her breast heaved in a long, sleepy sigh. She shuddered again, stiffened suddenly, sat rigid, entranced. Vincent, watching, crept forward, tense with anxiety.
“What are you going to do?” he whispered.