"Is the act of thinking them out an effort to you?" he asked.
"Not at all. They come as though someone else were planning them for me."
"Well, well! I think I can certainly be of use to you in this matter as in others. I understand your temperament thoroughly. And now let me give you my first prescription."
He went to a corner of the room and lifted from the floor an ebony casket, curiously carved and ornamented with silver. This he unlocked. It contained twelve flasks of cut glass, stoppered with gold and numbered in order. He next pulled out a side drawer in this casket, and in it I saw several little thin empty glass tubes, about the size of a cigarette-holder. Taking two of these he filled them from two of the larger flasks, corked them tightly, and then turning to me, said:
"To-night, on going to bed, have a warm bath, empty the contents of the tube marked No. 1 into it, and then immerse yourself thoroughly for about five minutes. After the bath, put the fluid in this other tube marked 2, into a tumbler of fresh spring water, and drink it off. Then go straight to bed."
"Shall I have any dreams?" I inquired with a little anxiety.
"Certainly not," replied Heliobas, smiling. "I wish you to sleep as soundly as a year-old child. Dreams are not for you to-night. Can you come to me tomorrow afternoon at five o'clock? If you can arrange to stay to dinner, my sister will be pleased to meet you; but perhaps you are otherwise engaged?"
I told him I was not, and explained where I had taken rooms, adding that I had come to Paris expressly to put myself under his treatment.
"You shall have no cause to regret this journey," he said earnestly. "I can cure you thoroughly, and I will. I forget your nationality—you are not English?"
"No, not entirely. I am half Italian."