But the Countess was a mere
psychic instrument, it seemed, and had to be told, first of the
question--he produced it with a suspicion that she might doubt his
honesty--and then of the astounding answer. Thus enlightened, she
protested that there could be no doubt about the truth of the answer;
she was ready to stake her professional reputation on its truth. She
regarded Bean with an awe which she made no attempt to conceal.
"You had your _day_," she said significantly; "pomps and powers and--and
attentions!"
Bean was excitedly piecing together what fragments of data his reading
had left him.
"Emperor of France--"
But some one else had rung the third bell, perhaps one of those
scientists coming to be dumfounded.
"He was," the Countess replied hurriedly, "the husban' of Mary Antonett,
an' they both got arrested and gilletined in the great French
revolution."
He was pretty certain that this was incorrect, but the Countess, after
all, was a mere instrument of higher intelligence, and she now made no
pretence of speaking otherwise than humanly.
"An' my controls say they'll leave me in a body if I take a cent less 'n
three dollars."
One of the controls seemed to be looking this very threat or something
like it from the medium's sharpened eyes.
Bean paid hastily, thus averting what would have been a calamity to all
earnest students of the occult. The advertisement, it is true, had
specifically mentioned one dollar as the accustomed honorarium, but this
was no time to haggle.
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