“Naturally, of course,” said Hugh, who had rapidly determined to treat the princess’ case, whatever it might prove to be, with bare matter-of-fact common sense: and, as in the case of hysterical subjects, to be unsympathetic—even, if necessary, rough. “A doctor should hear the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, from a patient. Otherwise, he is working in the dark, and might do more harm than good.” The princess was evidently in earnest about herself. She fixed her eyes intently upon Hugh as he was speaking, listened with all her ears, and when he had ended his somewhat didactic little speech, sighed a little sigh of relief. “It is a long story,” she began, apologetically. “We medical men are accustomed to long stories,” said Hugh, “especially from ladies.” “You do not like ladies?” said the princess, with a smile. (She seemed rather pleased than otherwise.) “I did not like the ladies of my country when I was a child. My mother and father were every day at the Court. Their own palace was a little Court. I was very unhappy. It was there I began to _dream_.” She hesitated and gave a nervous glance around before she said the word, which, indeed, she spoke with bated breath. “To dream?” said Dr. Paull, beginning to set down his new patient among the hysterical category. (When his hysterical patients could find nothing else to complain of, they invariably grumbled about their bad dreams, which were beyond anyone’s power to verify.) “Why, dreams are only imagination. Everyone has bad dreams. Dreams are nothing.” “Do you think so?” asked the girl, with intense anxiety, with a strained look in her big eyes. “Tell me that again! Tell me dreams are _nothing!_” “I do not exactly mean that they are _nothing_, that is merely an expression to be taken for what it is worth,” said he, impressed by her intensity. “But come, tell me all about these dreams; I am interested in dreams. I wish I could have met you when I was writing a little book about the brain. Your experiences might have been of great use to me. They still will be, if you will tell me all about them.” She knitted her brow, considered for some moments, then said, with evident effort: “Tell me, doctor, tell me truly. Do you think there could be two souls in one body, and one soul could be awake when the other was asleep?” “Is such a wild, horrible idea allowed by your Catholic religion?” asked Hugh, somewhat brusquely. “Do you know, princess, that allowing yourself to think of such things probably causes you these bad dreams?” She looked at him with a sad smile, and shook her head slowly. “Ah! you do not know!” she said. He had heard that plaintive tone of voice before from patients suffering acute anguish from deadly disease. “But you are right, monsieur le docteur, I am wrong to say such a thing. It is against my holy faith.” Her proud humility touched him. “And I was wrong to ask you such a question,” he said. Then he coaxed her to speak freely to him.