Each patient was now called on in turn to perform the same experiment. The more imaginative among them--notably the women--were at once successful. One old lady was so absorbed in the thought "I cannot" as not to heed the request to think "I can." With her face ruefully puckered up she sat staring fixedly at her interlocked fingers, as though contemplating an act of fate. "Voila," said Coue, smiling, "if Madame persists in her present idea, she will never open her hands again as long as she lives." Several of the men, however, were not at once successful. The whilom blacksmith with the disabled arm, when told to think "I should like to open my hands but I cannot," proceeded without difficulty to open them. "You see," said Coue, with a smile, "it depends not on what I say but on what you think. What were you thinking then?" He hesitated. "I thought perhaps I could open them after all." "Exactly. And therefore you could. Now clasp your hands again. Press them together." When the right degree of pressure had been reached, Coue told him to repeat the words "I cannot, I cannot...." As he repeated this phrase the contracture increased, and all his efforts failed to release his grip. "Voila," said Coue. "Now listen. For ten years you have been thinking you could not lift your arm above your shoulder, consequently you have not been able to do so, for whatever we think becomes true for us. Now think 'I can lift it.'" The patient looked at him doubtfully. "Quick!" Coue said in a tone of authority. "Think 'I can, I can!'" "I can," said the man. He made a half-hearted attempt and complained of a pain in his shoulder. "Bon," said Coue. "Don't lower your arm. Close your eyes and repeat with me as fast as you can, 'Ca passe, ca passe.'" For half a minute they repeated this phrase together, speaking so fast as to produce a sound like the whirr of a rapidly revolving machine. Meanwhile Coue quickly stroked the man's shoulder. At the end of that time the patient admitted that his pain had left him. "Now think well that you can lift your arm," Coue said. The departure of the pain had given the patient faith. His face, which before had been perplexed and incredulous, brightened as the thought of power took possession of him. "I can," he said in a tone of finality, and without effort he calmly lifted his arm to its full height above his head. He held it there triumphantly for a moment while the whole company applauded and encouraged him. Coue reached for his hand and shook it. "My friend, you are cured." "C'est merveilleux," the man answered. "I believe I am." "Prove it," said Coue. "Hit me on the shoulder." The patient laughed, and dealt him a gentle rap. "Harder," Coue encouraged him. "Hit me harder--as hard as you can." His arm began to rise and fall in regular blows, increasing in force until Coue was compelled to call on him to stop. "Voila, mon ami, you can go back to your anvil."