"But it could not have been the man's apparition when he was not dead; and it could not have been the man himself when he was not at Sainteville," contended Featherston. "And I believe that it all meant one of those mysterious warnings which are vouchsafed us from our spiritual guardians in the unseen world," added Madame Carimon, independently pursuing her argument. "And that it came to Lavinia to warn her to escape from this evil house." "And she did not do it," remarked David Preen. "She was not quick enough. Well, let us go on." "As Lavinia came out of church, Charles Palliser ran after her to ask her to go home to dine with him and his aunt," resumed Madame Carimon. "If she had only accepted it! The dinner here was a very simple one, and they all partook of it, including Flore----" "And it was Flore who cooked and served it?" interrupted David Preen, looking at her. "Mais oui, monsieur. The tart excepted; that was frangipane, and did come from the pastrycook," added Flore, plunging into English. "Then I had my own dinner, and I had of every dish; and I drank of the wine. Miss Lavinia would give me a glass of wine on the Sunday, and she poured it out for me herself that day from the bottle of Bordeaux on their own table. Nothing was the matter with any of all that. The one thing I did not have of was the liqueur." "What liqueur was that?" "It was chartreuse, I believe," said Flore. "While I was busy removing the dinner articles from the salon, monsieur was busy at his cupboard outside there, where he kept his bottles. He came into the kitchen just as I had sat down to eat, and asked me for three liqueur glasses, which I gave to him on a plate. I heard him pour the liqueur into them, and he carried them to the ladies." Mr. David Preen wrote something down here. "After that the captain went out to walk, saying he would see the English boat enter; and when I had finished washing up I carried the tea-tray to the salon-table and went home. Miss Lavinia was quite well then; she sat in her belle robe of grey silk talking with her sister. Then, when I was giving my boy Dion his collation, a tartine and a cooked apple, I was fetched back here, and found the poor lady fighting with pain for her life." "Did you wash those liqueur glasses?" asked Mr. Featherston. "But yes, sir. I had taken them away when I carried in the tea-things, and washed them at once, and put them on the shelf in their places."