He had money somewhere. It was evident
that he was in a highly nervous state. If he could be induced to
take opium once or twice it might become a habit. To sell opium
was very profitable, and Colaisso knew well enough the power of
the vice and the proportions it would soon assume, especially if
Meschini thought the medicine contained only some harmless drug.
"Very well," said the apothecary. "I will make you a draught. But
you must be sure that you are ready to sleep when you take it. It
acts very quickly."
The draught which Meschini carried home with him was nothing but
weak laudanum and water. It looked innocent enough, in the little
glass bottle labelled "Sleeping potion." But the effect of it, as
Colaisso had told him, was very rapid. Exhausted by all he had
suffered, the librarian closed the windows of his room and lay
down to rest. In a quarter of an hour he was in a heavy sleep. In
his dreams he was happier than he had ever been before. The whole
world seemed to be his, to use as he pleased. He was transformed
into a magnificent being such as he had never imagined in his
waking hours. He passed from one scene of splendour to another,
from glory to glory, surrounded by forms of beauty, by showers of
golden light in a beatitude beyond all description.
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