He stood in the little parlour and again the Countess appeared from
behind the heavy curtains, a plump white hand at the throat of her
scarlet gown.
He was obliged to recall himself to her, for the Countess began to tell
him that his aura was clouded with evil curnts.
"You told me what I was--last time, don't you remember? You know, you
said, it was written on the slate what I was--" He could not bring
himself to utter the name. But the Countess remembered.
"Sure; perfectly! And what was you wishing to know now?"
She surveyed him with heavy-lidded eyes, a figure of mystery, of secret
knowledge.
"I want you to tell me who I was before that--before _him_."
The Countess blinked her eyes rapidly, as if it hurried calculation.
"And I don't mean _just_ before. I want to go 'way back, thousands of
years--what I was _first_." He looked helplessly around the room, then
glanced appealingly at the Countess. The flushed and friendly face was
troubled.
"Well, I dunno." She pondered, eying her sitter closely. "Of course all
things is possible to us, but sometimes the conditions ain't jest right
and y'r c'ntrol can't git into rapport with them that has been gone
more'n a few years. Now this thing you're after--I don't say it can't be
done--f'r money."
"If I learned something good, I wouldn't care anything about the money,"
he ventured.
The Countess glanced up interestedly.
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