in spite of perplexity at what she
regarded as Mrs. Hunter's recognition of her lover's face and
forgetfulness of his name, she could not help noticing her excited talk
to her sister, and the meaning glances finally directed toward her,
Elizabeth. Whereat, to hide a little rosy flush, Miss Waldron turned
more completely toward the place of the hypnotist.

Madame le Claire stood in the little curtained alcove, empty save for
the great tiger-skin rug, the dais, and a chair or two. She was gowned
once more in the yellow and black, and stood in tigrine splendor
cap-a-pie. Amidon felt her old power over him, as he approached her
and looked into those mysterious eyes, and knew that he should do her
bidding. She looked at his troubled countenance, and pitied him for
his long evening of mental strain. She had seen his devotion to
Elizabeth, and, be it confessed, was jealous in spite of herself. Pity
and jealousy inspired the resolution which now formed in her mind: she
would for an interval--an interval definitely limited--restore Eugene
Brassfield to this company in which he was so completely at home, and
lay the troubled ghost, Amidon. He would appear to better advantage
altogether and do himself more credit; he would, in fact, be more
convincingly Bellevale's "chief citizen."

She bowed deeply and waved him to the chair. Then she performed the
charm of "woven paces and of waving arms," and he slept, "lost to life
and use and name and fame."

"When he opens his eyes," said she, "he will know nothing, think
nothing, do nothing, except what I suggest."

"Make him dance with the broom," suggested Cox.

"Let's have his inaugural address," petitioned Edgington.

"Give him this," said Alvord, offering a coin, "and make him think it's
hot. People in this neighborhood would go farther to see Brassfield
drop a piece of money, than to interview a live dinosaur!"

The laughter at this sally was lost on Madame le Claire. She was
looking down on the unconscious Amidon, and wondering how any one could
think of making him the instrument of buffoonery.

"I will perform only one simple, yet very difficult, lest," said she.
"This gentleman will soon wake as Mr. Brassfield, and will be his old
and usual self among you until a certain hour, which I will write on
this card, and seal up in this envelope, so that no one will know, and
inform Mr. Brassfield by suggestion. When that particular moment
arrives, wherever he may be,