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84 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
rambled on, uninterruptedly, monotonously, verbosely.
The old tenets of the catechism lulled rae gently to sleep,
and the presence of a human being entering into spiritual
relationship with my soul gave me new strength.
But the preacher, suddenly doubting my sincerity, inter-
rupted his discourse with a question
—
" Do you hold the true faith ?
"
"No," I replied, "but go on speaking, your words are
doing me good. ..." And he returned to his work.
The monotonous sound of his voice, the radiations from
his eyes, the warmth which emanated from his body,
affected me like a magnetic fluid. In half-an-hour’s time
I was fast asleep.
When I awoke, the mesmerist had gone ; the servant
brought me a sleeping-draught, with strict injunctions
from the chemist to be careful, as the bottle contained
sufficient poison to kill a man. Needless to say, as soon
as she had turned her back, I drank the whole contents
of the flask at a gulp. Then, firmly determined to die,
I buried myself under the blankets, and sleep was not long
in coming.
When I opened my eyes on the following morning I was
not in the least surprised to find my room flooded by the
rays of a brilliant sun, for my sleep had been visited by
bright and rosy dreams.
"I dream, therefore I exist," I said to myself. I felt
my body all over, so as to discern the height of the fever,
or the presence of any signs of pneumonia. But, in spite
of my firm resolution to bring about a crisis, my condition
was fairly normal. My brain, although a little stupefied,
functioned easily, no longer under the high pressure of the
previous day, and twelve hours’ sleep had fully restored
the vigour which, thanks to bodily exercises of all descrip-
tions, practised since my early youth, I usually enjoyed.
... A telegram was handed to me. My friends were
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