Vincent watched her go, anguish and despair in his eyes. He turned to Chassaigne.
“Well?” he asked, hoarsely.
Chassaigne made a gesture of annoyance. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I might have guessed as much!” he said. “He has rendered her immune to the suggestion. You see, the trance was induced easily enough. As I thought, she was accustomed to being hypnotized by that mirror and the mere sight of it was almost sufficient. Without that, I should certainly have failed to hypnotize her at all, for Breidenbach would assuredly have impressed upon her the suggestion that she could be hypnotized by no one but himself. He has furthermore guarded himself by impressing upon her that the suggestion of being anybody but Ottilie Rosenhagen will suffice to break the trance. He cannot be sure that such an impressionable subject may not be hypnotized, possibly by a chance accident—such things occur—in his absence. But he can be sure that any counter-suggestion on the vital matter will defeat itself—as we have just seen.”
“But can no one remove the suggestion?” cried Vincent. He glared around the room, clenching his fist. “The infernal scoundrel! By God, I’ll kill him!” He fingered the revolver, in the holster strapped to his belt.
Chassaigne laid a restraining hand upon him.
“If you do—you will in all probability kill the only man in the world who can replace the factitious personality of Ottilie Rosenhagen by the real personality of Hélène Courvoisier!”
Vincent stared at him.
“Do you mean that?”
“He certainly can remove the suggestions he has himself made. It is doubtful whether any other can.”