ealed
the sentence; and my great-uncle, the field-marshal, drew his sword
and cut off my uncle's death's-head. The head rolled over, and fell at
my feet, still holding the pipe between its teeth, and blew its filthy
breath over me. Then I arose and fled."

The pastor had now made up his mind that the whole story was nothing
but the dream of an hysterical woman. It was strange, however, that
the countess should have the same vision so often, and that it should
always begin in the same manner.

As she now concluded her recital with the words, "As I took off my
silk dress it smelled horribly of tobacco-smoke," a brilliant idea
came to Father Mahok.

"Will you excuse my asking you where your green dress is?" he asked,
gravely.

The countess betrayed some embarrassment.

"I do not know. My wardrobe is in the care of Fraulein Emerenzia--"

"Allow me to ask you the question, did you not take the dress off in
this apartment?"

"I no longer remember. Emerenzia has been here since; she may know."

"Will you grant me the favor, countess, to send for Fraulein
Emerenzia?"

"Certainly. She will be here in a minute."

The countess pressed her finger twice on the electric apparatus, and
the companion entered.

"Fraulein," said the countess, "you remember my green Gros de Naples
silk, bordered with a trimming of fur?"

"Yes; it is a pelisse of peculiar cut, with hanging sleeves, and
fastened by a silk band and buckle."

"That is the dress," returned the countess. "Where is it?"

"In the wardrobe. I hung it there myself, first putting camphor in the
sleeves, that the moths might not get at the fur."

"When did you do this?"

"Last summer."

The pastor laughed slyly to himself. "Now," thought he, "the countess
must be convinced that she dreamed the whole scene she has so
accurately described."

"Have I not worn it since last summer?" questioned Theudelinde.

"Not once. The open-hanging sleeves are only for the hottest weather."

"Impossible!"

"But, countess," put in the priest, "it is easy to convince yourself
of what ma'm'selle says. You have only to look into the wardrobe. Who
keeps the key?"

"Ma'm'selle Emerenzia."

"Do you command me to open the press?" asked the companion, with a
discomfited look.

"I do," answered the countess, nodding to the pastor to follow her
into the next room.

Emerenzia, her face puckered into an expression of annoyance, drew her
bunch of keys from her pocket, and placed