"_Ah, mon Dieu!_ but not to this," cried the Chevalier, raising his hands and eyes in deprecating astonishment. "Not to my Soirée Fantastique! The art of legerdemain, Monsieur, is not immoral. He is graceful--he is surprising--he is innocent; and, Monsieur, he is patronized by the Church; he is patronized by your amiable _Curé_, Monsieur le Docteur Brand." "Oh, father," I exclaimed, "Dr. Brand has taken tickets!" "And pray, sir, what's that to me?" growled my father, without looking up from the book which he had ungraciously resumed. "Let Dr. Brand make a fool of himself, if he pleases. I'm not bound to do the same." The Chevalier blushed crimson--not with humility this time, but with pride. He gathered the cards into his pocket, took up his hat, and saying stiffly--"_Monsieur, je vous demande pardon._"--moved towards the door. On the threshold he paused, and turning towards me with an air of faded dignity:--"Young gentleman," he said, "_you_ I thank for your politeness." He seemed as if he would have said more--hesitated--became suddenly livid--put his hand to his head, and leaned for support against the wall. My father was up and beside him in an instant. We carried rather than led him to the sofa, untied his cravat, and administered the necessary restoratives. He was all but insensible for some moments. Then the color came back to his lips, and he sighed heavily. "An attack of the nerves," he said, shaking his head feebly. "An attack of the nerves, Messieurs." My father looked doubtful. "Are you often taken in this way?" he asked, with unusual gentleness. "_Mais oui_, Monsieur," admitted the Frenchman, reluctantly. "He does often arrive to me. Not--not that he is dangerous. Ah, bah! _Pas du tout_!" "Humph!" ejaculated my father, more doubtfully than before. "Let me feel your pulse." The Chevalier bowed and submitted, watching the countenance of the operator all the time with an anxiety that was not lost upon me. "Do you sleep well?" asked my father, holding the fragile little wrist between his finger and thumb. "Passably, Monsieur." "Dream much?" "Ye--es, I dream." "Are you subject to giddiness?" The Chevalier shrugged his shoulders and looked uneasy. "_C'est vrai_" he acknowledged, more unwillingly than ever, "_J'ai des vertiges_." My father relinquished his hold and scribbled a rapid prescription. "There, sir," said he, "get that preparation made up, and when you next feel as you felt just now, drink a wine-glassful. I should recommend you to keep some always at hand, in case of emergency. You will find further directions on the other side." The little Frenchman attempted to get up with his usual vivacity; but was obliged to balance himself against the back of a chair.