“A serpent, exactly. Yet, when I actually meet her in the land of the poppies, she is a dusky Cleopatra in whose arms I forget the world--even the world of the poppy. We float down the stream together, always in an Indian bark canoe, and this stream runs through orange groves. Numberless apes--millions of apes, inhabit these groves, and as we two float along, they hurl orange blossoms--orange blossoms, you understand--until the canoe is filled with them. I assure you, monsieur, that I perform these delightful journeys regularly, and to be deprived of the key which opens the gate of this wonderland, is to me like being exiled from a loved one. Pardieu! that grove of the apes! Morbleu! my witch of the dusky eyes! Yet, as I have told you, owing to some trick of my brain, whilst I can experience an intense longing for that companion of my dreams, my waking attempts to visualize her provide nothing but the image”... “Of a serpent,” concluded Sir Brian, smiling pathetically. “You are indeed an enthusiast, M. Gaston, and to me a new type. I had supposed that every slave of the drug cursed his servitude and loathed and despised himself.”... “Ah, monsieur! to ME those words sound almost like a sacrilege!” “But,” continued Sir Brian, “your remarks interest me strangely; for two reasons. First, they confirm your assertion that you are, or were, an habitue of the Rue St. Claude, and secondly, they revive in my mind an old fancy--a superstition.” “What is that, Sir Brian?” inquired M. Max, whose opium vision was a faithful imitation of one related to him by an actual frequenter of the establishment near the Boulevard Beaumarchais. “Only once before, M. Gaston, have I compared notes with a fellow opium-smoker, and he, also, was a patron of Madame Jean; he, also, met in his dreams that Eastern Circe, in the grove of apes, just as I”... “Morbleu! Yes?” “As I meet her!” “But this is astounding!” cried Max, who actually thought it so. “Your fancy--your superstition--was this: that only habitues of Rue St. Claude met, in poppyland, this vision? And in your fancy you are now confirmed?” “It is singular, at least.” “It is more than that, Sir Brian! Can it be that some intelligence presides over that establishment and exercises--shall I call it a hypnotic influence upon the inmates?” M. Max put the question with sincere interest. “One does not ALWAYS meet her,” murmured Sir Brian. “But--yes, it is possible. For I have since renewed those experiences in London.” “What! in London?” “Are you remaining for some time longer in London?” “Alas! for several weeks yet.” “Then I will introduce you to a gentleman who can secure you admission to an establishment in London--where you may even hope sometimes to find the orange grove--to meet your dream-bride!” “What!” cried M. Gaston, rising to his feet, his eyes bright with gratitude, “you will do that?”