have you seen them?"
"Yes; and I refuse to believe . . . no, of course, it's an illusion on my part. . . . How could it be possible, when you come to think of it? Imagine, the eyes wore the expression of my dead son's eyes, yes, the very expression of my poor Dominique. It's madness, isn't it? And yet I declare, yes, I declare that Dominique was gazing at me . . . at first with a sad and sorrowful gaze, which suddenly became the terrified gaze of a man who is staring death in the face. And then the Three Eyes began to revolve upon themselves. That was the end."
I made Noël Dorgeroux sit down:
"It's as you suppose, uncle, an illusion, an hallucination. Just think, Dominique has been dead so many years! It is therefore incredible . . ."
"Everything is incredible and nothing is," he said. "There is no room for human logic in front of that wall."
I tried to reason with him, though my mind was becoming as bewildered as his own. But he silenced me:
"That'll do," he said. "Here's the other thing beginning."
He pointed to the screen, which was showing signs of life and preparing to reveal a new picture.
"But, uncle," I said, already overcome by excitement, "where does that come from?"
"Don't speak," said Noël Dorgeroux. "Not a word."
I at once observed that this other thing bore no relation to what I had witnessed the day before; and I concluded that the scenes presented must occur without any prearranged order, without any chronological or serial connection, in short, like the different films displayed in the course of a performance.
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