presently, as if awakening from a dream, he talks and smiles and laughs as
before. Berta's father has observed, on his side, that he knows something
about everything, understands something of everything, has an explanation
for everything, comprehends and divines everything, as if he possessed the
secret of all things. And these observations they communicate to each
other, filled with wonder and amazement.

Sometimes, sitting beside Berta, he amuses himself winding the linen floss
or the silks with which she is embroidering, or in cutting fantastic
figures out of any scrap of paper that may be at hand. Then he is like a
child. At other times he speaks of the world and of men, of foreign
countries and of remote ages, with so much gravity and judgment that he
seems like an old man who has retired from the world laden with wisdom and
experience.

But when he seats himself at the piano, then one can only yield one's self
unresistingly to the caprices of his will. The keys, touched by his
fingers, produce melodies so sparkling, so joyous, that the soul is filled
with gayety; but suddenly he changes to another key and the piano moans
and sighs like a human voice, and the heart is moved and the eyes fill
with tears. But this is not all; for, when one least expects it, thunder
low and deep seems to roll through the instrument; and strains are heard,
now near, now distant, that thrill the heart, and tones that fill the soul
with terror; through the vibrating chords all the spirits of the other
world seem to be speaking in an unknown tongue.

It is all very well for the housekeeper to regard Adrian Baker as the
devil in person, or as a man possessed by the devil, or at least as an
extraordinary being, who possesses the diabolical secret of some
wonder-working philtre. It is all very well for Berta's father to see in