He paused, and looked round toward the corner of the room behind him. “Mother,” he said gently, “are you ready?”
An elderly lady, dressed in deep mourning, rose from her seat in the corner. She had been, thus far, hidden from notice by the high back of the easy-chair in which her son sat. Excepting some folds of fine black lace, laid over her white hair so as to form a head-dress at once simple and picturesque, there was nothing remarkable in her attire. The visitor rose and bowed. She gravely returned his salute, and moved so as to place herself opposite to her son.
“May I ask what this lady is going to do?” said the stranger.
“To be of any use to you,” answered Doctor Lagarde, “I must be thrown into the magnetic trance. The person who has the strongest influence over me is the person who will do it to-night.”
He turned to his mother. “When you like,” he said.
Bending over him, she took both the Doctor’s hands, and looked steadily into his eyes. No words passed between them; nothing more took place. In a minute or two, his head was resting against the back of the chair, and his eyelids had closed.
“Are you sleeping?” asked Madame Lagarde.
“I am sleeping,” he answered.
She laid his hands gently on the arms of the chair, and turned to address the visitor.
“Let the sleep gain on him for a minute or two more,” she said. “Then take one of his hands, and put to him what questions you please.”