'Come, Anita,' she cried, yet with a hush of excitement in her voice, 'we will have an evening of it. Bring the _soucoupe_ with you, while I prepare the little table.' In her greasy kitchen apron Anita came. Zizi, her boy, came with her. Madame Jequier, with her flowing garment that was tea-gown, garden-dress, and dressing-gown all in one, looked really like a witch, her dark hair all askew and her eyes shining with mysterious anticipation. 'We'll ask the spirits for help and guidance,' she said to herself, lest the boy should overhear. For Zizi often helped them with their amateur planchette, only they told him it was electricity: _le magnetisme_, _le fluide_, was the term they generally made use of. Its vagueness covered all possible explanations with just the needed touch of confusion and suggestion in it. They settled down in a corner of the room, where the ivy from the ceiling nearly touched their heads. The small round table was produced; the saucer, with an arrow pencilled on its edge, was carefully placed upon the big sheet of paper which bore the letters of the alphabet and the words _oui_ and _non_ in the corners. The light behind them was half veiled by ivy; the rest of the old room lay in comparative darkness; through the half-opened door a lamp shone upon the oil-cloth in the hall, showing the stains and the worn, streaked patches where the boards peeped through. The house was very still. They began with a little prayer--to _ceux qui ecoutent_,--and then each of them placed a finger on the rim of the upturned saucer, waiting in silence. They were a study in darkness, those three pointing fingers. 'Zizi, tu as beaucoup de fluide ce soir, oui?' whispered the widow after a considerable interval. 'Oh, comme d'habitude,' he shrugged his shoulders. He loved these mysterious experiments, but he never claimed much _fluide_ until the saucer moved, jealous of losing his reputation as a storehouse of this strange, human electricity.