like him, was seeking in the dark a great discovery. This casual mention of the spiritualist, Madame Vulpes, set me on a new track. What if this spiritualism should be really a great fact? What if, through communication with more subtile organisms than my own, I could reach at a single bound the goal, which perhaps a life of agonizing mental toil would never enable me to attain? 

 While purchasing the Palissy vase from my friend Simon, I was mentally arranging a visit to Madame Vulpes. 

  

 III 

 THE SPIRIT OF LEEUWENHOEK 

 Two evenings after this, thanks to an arrangement by letter and the promise of an ample fee, I found Madame Vulpes awaiting me at her residence alone. She was a coarse-featured woman, with keen and rather cruel dark eyes, and an exceedingly sensual expression about her mouth and under jaw. She received me in perfect silence, in an apartment on the ground floor, very sparely furnished. In the centre of the room, close to where Mrs. Vulpes sat, there was a common round mahogany table. If I had come for the purpose of sweeping her chimney, the woman could not have looked more indifferent to my appearance. There was no attempt to inspire the visitor with awe. Everything bore a simple and practical aspect. This intercourse with the spiritual world was evidently as familiar an occupation with Mrs. Vulpes as eating her dinner or riding in an omnibus. 

 "You come for a communication, Mr. Linley?" said the medium, in a dry, business-like tone of voice. 

 "By appointment,—yes." 

 "What sort of communication do you want—a written one?" 

 "Yes—I wish for a written one." 

 "From any particular spirit?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Have you ever known this spirit on this earth?" 

 "Never. He died long before I was born. I wish merely to obtain from him some information which he ought to be able to give better than any other." 

 "Will you seat yourself at the table, Mr. Linley," said the medium, "and place your hands upon it?" 

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