Just then Miss Furness hurried in and out again, leaving the door ajar, so that from where I sat I could command a view of the little passage, and saw Mrs Blunt walk up, jingling her keys, and stepping upon the points of her toes over a little stream of water that was slowly flowing along. Then going up to the store-room door, I heard the key thrust in, as impelled by I know not what, I left my seat, and formed one of the group which stood looking upon the little stream that I could now see came from beneath the store-room door. "The skylight must have been left open," exclaimed Mrs Blunt, flinging open the door, and at the same moment the recollection of the crash flashed across my mind; for, as she flung open the door, in her pompous, bouncing way, and was about to step in, oh!--horror of horrors! how can I describe it all? There was the floor of the little room covered with broken glass, water, bits of putty, wood, and a mass of broken jam pots; and the little table, that had evidently stood beneath the skylight, had two of its legs broken off, and had slid its saccharine burden (that is better than saying load of jam) upon the floor in hideous ruin. Some pots were broken to pieces, some in half; while others had rolled to the other end of the room, and were staining their paper covers, or dyeing the water with their rich, cloying contents. But worse, far worse than all, with his face cut, scratched, and covered with dry blood, his shirt front and waistcoat all jam, crouching back in the farthest corner, was the poor Signor--regularly trapped when he had fallen through the skylight; for it was impossible for any one to have climbed up to the opening, through which the rain came like a shower bath, and there was no other way of exit. The lady principal shrieked, the lady teachers performed a trio of witch-screams--the most discordant ever uttered--and my Lady Blunt would have plashed down into the puddle, only, seeing how wet it was, she only reeled and clung to me, who felt ready to drop myself, as I leaned against the wall half swooning. Alarmed by the shrieks, Achille came running out, looking, as I thought, very pale. "Ladies, ladies!" he ejaculated, "_ma foi, qu'est ce que c'est_?" "Help, help! Monsieur Achille," gasped Mrs Blunt. He hurried forward, and relieved me of my load. "Fetch the police," cried Miss Furness. "_Nein, nein_--it is a mistake," whispered the Fraulein, who had a penchant, I think, for the poor Signor. "Signor Pazzoletto, it is thou!" exclaimed Achille, with an aspect of the most profound amazement as he caught sight of his unfortunate friend--an aspect which was, indeed, truthful.