, but the furnace was
there beneath the flower garden just as it is in the case of the earth.

Captain Berselius was still alive, though suppressed and living in
secrecy. At night, touched by the magic wand of sleep, he became awake,
and became supreme master of the tenement in the cellars of which he was
condemned to sleep by day.

So far from having been touched by death, Captain Berselius was now secure
from death or change; a thing not to be reasoned with or altered--beyond
human control--yet vividly alive as the fabled monster that inhabits the
cellars of Glamis Castle.

Between the dual personalities of the man complete fission had taken
place, a terrible accident of the sort condemning the cast-off personality
to live in darkness beyond the voice of mind or amendment.

"Well," said Adams, as he entered the room. "How are you to-day?"

"Oh, about the same, about the same. If I could sleep properly I would
mend, but my sleep is broken."

"I must give you something to alter that."

Berselius laughed.

"Drugs?"

"Yes, drugs. We doctors cannot always command health, but we can command
sleep. Do you feel yourself able to talk for a bit?"

"Oh, yes, I feel physically well. Sit down, you will find some cigars in
that cabinet."

Adams lit a cigar and took his seat in an armchair close to his companion.
All differences of rank and wealth were sunk between these two men who had
gone through so much together. On their return, when Berselius had desired
Adams to remain as his medical attendant, he had delegated M. Pinchon as
intermediary to deal with Adams as to the financial side of the question.

Adams received a large salary paid monthly in advance by the secretary.
Berselius did not have any hand in the matter, thus the feeling of
employer and employed was reduced to vanishing point and the position
rendered more equal.

"You know," said Adams, "I have always been glad to do anything I can for
you, and I always shall be, but since I have come back to Paris I have
been filled with unrest. You complain of sleeplessness--well, that is my
disease."

"Yes?"

"It's that place over there; it has got into my blood. I declare to God
that I am the last man in the world to sentimentalize, but that horror is
killing me, and I must act--I must do something--even if I have to go into
the middle of the Place de la Concorde and shout it aloud. I shall shout
it aloud. I'm not made so that I can stand seeing a thing like