ve
been in his manner of breaking the news.

"I am not well," said the Count in a low voice. "To-day is Wednesday--I am
never well on Wednesdays."

"To-day is Thursday," answered Grabofsky.

"Thursday? Thursday--" the Count reeled, and would have fallen, but for
the support of the nervous little man's wiry arm.

Then, in the space of a second, took place that strange phenomenon of the
intelligence which is as yet so imperfectly understood. It is called the
"Transfer" in the jargon of the half-developed science which deals with
suggestion and the like. Its effects are strange, sudden and complete,
often observed, never understood, but chronicled in hundreds of cases and
analysed in every seat of physiological learning in Europe. In the
twinkling of an eye, a part or the whole of the intelligence, or of the
sensations, is reversed in action, and this with a logical precision of
which no description can give any idea. It is universally considered as
the first step in the direction of recovery.

The action of the Count's mind was "transferred," therefore, since the
word is consecrated by usage. Fortunately for him, the transfer coincided
with a material change in his fortunes. Had this not been the case it
would have had the effect of making him mad through the whole week, and
sane only from Tuesday evening until the midnight of Wednesday. As it was,
the result was of a contrary nature. Being now in reality restored to
wealth and dignity, he was able to understand and appreciate the reality
during six days, becoming again, in imagination, a cigarette-maker upon
the seventh, a harmless delusion which already shows signs of
disappearing, and from which the principal authorities confidently assert
that he will soon be quite free.

He passed but one moment in a state of semi-consciousness. Then he raised
his head, and stood erect, and to the great surprise of Grabofsky, showed
no further surprise at the news he had just received.

"The fact is," he said, quietly, "I was expecting you yesterday. I had
received a letter from the wife of the steward informing me of the death
of my father and brother. I think your coming to-day must have disturbed
me, as I have some difficulty in recalling the circumstances which
attended our meeting here."

"A passing indisposition," suggested Grabofsky. "Nothing more. The weather
is warm, sultry in fact."

"Yes, it must have been that. And now, we had better communicate the state
of th