Voltaire, Kaffar, Tom Temple, and Simon Slowden were in the room. "How
do you feel, Mr. Blake?" asked Voltaire, blandly.

I lifted my eyes to his, and felt held by a strange power. "I'm all
right," I said almost mechanically, at the same time feeling as if I was
under the influence of a charm.

"Then," said Voltaire, "I will leave you. Good-night."

Immediately he left, followed by Kaffar, I experiencing a sense of
relief. "Did I do anything very foolish?" I asked, recollecting the
events of the evening.

"Oh no, Justin," replied Tom. "And yet that Voltaire is a terrible
fellow. Half the young ladies in the room were nearly as much mesmerized
as you were. You acted in pretty nearly the same way as Simon here, but
nothing else. Do you feel quite right?"

"I am awfully weak," I said, "and cold shivers creep down my legs."

"You were such a long time under the influence, whatever it is," said
Tom. "But you'll go back to the drawing-room?"

"No; I don't feel up to it. But don't you remain. I'm feeling shaky, but
I shan't mind a bit if you'll let Simon remain with me."

And so Tom left me with Simon. "Do you feel shaky and shivery, Simon?" I
asked.