[7] “The secret of the trick is as follows: That part of the wood which forms the chin is replaced by a small strip of iron, which is painted the same color as the mask, so that it cannot be seen; an electro-magnet is let into the top of the table, so that the cores shall be opposite the strip of iron when the mask is laid upon the table. Contact is made by means of a push-button somewhere in the side scenes; the wires run under the stage, and connection is made through the legs of the table when the legs are set on the foreordained place.”—Hopkins’ _Magic_, etc. I thanked the manager for his information. The story about the death-mask in the possession of the Vatican was simply a part of the prestidigitateur’s patter, but everything is permissible in a conjuring séance. I went home to the little hotel where I lodged in the historic Rue de Beaune, a stone’s throw from the house where Voltaire died. In my bedroom, over the carved oak mantel, was a curious old mirror set in a tarnished gilt frame, a relic of the eighteenth century. Said I to myself: “Would this were a ghost-glass, a veritable mirror of Nostradamus, wherein I might conjure up a phantasmagoria of that vanished Paris of long ago.” Possessed with this fantastic idea, I retired to rest, closed in the crimson curtains of the antique four-poster, and was soon wafted into the land of dreams. Strange visions filled my brain. In the mirror I seemed to see Cagliostro searching for the “elixir of life,” in the laboratory of the Hotel de Strasbourg, while near him stood the Cardinal de Rohan, breathlessly awaiting the results of the mystic operation. The red glow from the alchemist’s furnace illumined the great necromancer with a coppery splendor.