e can do
a great many things in sleep, of which we know nothing when we wake.
I've heard queer stories of that. Men have committed murders in their
sleep. It happens quite often that sleep-walkers write letters in a
handwriting they do not recognize when awake.'

"'I have never been a sleep-walker,' answered Lucien.

"'Oh, you never can tell,' I remarked. 'Would you rather explain it as
magic? Or as the work of fairies? Or do you believe in ghosts? Your
muse has fascinated you, you mystic!' And I laughed and trilled a line
from 'The Mascot,' which we had seen the evening before at the Lyric.

"But my merriment did not seem to strike an answering note in Lucien.
He turned from me in silence, and with an offended expression took his
hat and his proofs, and--humorist and skeptic as he was ordinarily, he
parted from me with the words, uttered in a theatrical tone:

"'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in thy
philosophy.'

"He turned on his heel and left the room.

"To be candid, I was unpleasantly affected by the little scene. I
could not for an instant doubt Lucien's honesty,--he was so pale, so
frightened almost--so touching in the alarm and excitement of his
soul. Of course the only explanation that I could see was that he had
written his novel in a sleep-walking state.

"For certainly no printer could set up type from a manuscript that did
not exist,--to say nothing of printing it and sending out proofs.

"Several days passed, but Lucien did not come near me. I went to his
place once or twice, but the door was locked. Had the devil carried
him off bodily? Or had this strange and inexplicable occurrence robbed
him of his sanity, and robbed me of his friendship and his excellent
whisky?

"After three useless attempts to find him at home, and after writing
him a letter which he did not answer, I gave up Lucien without any
further attempt to understand his enigmatical behavior. A short time
after, I left for my home without having seen or heard anything more
of him.

"Months passed. I remained at home, and one evening when, during the
course of a gay party, the conversation came around to the subject of
mysticism and occult occurrences, I dished up my story of the
enigmatical manuscript. The Unknown, the Occult, was the rage just
then, and my story was received with great applause and called forth
numerous quotations as to 'more things in heaven and earth.' I came to
think so much of