Another reason for remaining silent was, that once after having spoken of these events to the member of a reputedly religious family, the Virgin refused to make any evolution before this visitor. But scarcely was the incredulous person out of the house when the statuette was displaced. The same evening I put Marie to sleep, and reproached the spirit severely. ‘What happens here is for you alone,’ he replied, ‘and ought not to be exhibited as a spectacle.’ However, this apparently severe admonition was soon infringed upon by himself under the following circumstances:— M. Bossuet, a hairdresser in the Rue Bouffard, at Bordeaux, was dressing Madame Vergniat’s hair in the sitting-room: my wife heard the sharp rap which usually announced a displacement of the Virgin. She got up, and without saying anything went into the room, followed instinctively by M. Bossuet. The Virgin was balancing herself on the edge of the bracket. M. Bossuet, quickly understanding what was happening, cried out in admiration, ‘_Mon Dieu!_ how glad I am to have seen such a thing!’ M. Bossuet is dead now; who can say whether he has found the solution of the problem which engages us? I took advantage of this incident to ask why the Virgin had moved during M. Bossuet’s visit, since it was told me that these favours were exclusively reserved for the household. ‘I choose my company,’ replied the spirit, ‘and I had to reward M. Bossuet for having patiently reproduced the features of Christ in some hair.’ I do not know if it be true—though many have since assured me it is true—that M. Bossuet was the author of such a work. I confine myself, as a faithful reporter, to recording the reply which was given me. Our house had one inconvenience—a very disagreeable one in winter—that of obliging the maid to cross the garden in order to open the gate for the milkman, who rang every morning at daybreak. We were looking for a combination which might enable us to avoid this inconvenience, when our kind protector came to our aid. This fact is one of the most curious of our long series of surprising adventures. Henceforth, when the milkman’s cart stopped at the gate and before he rang, a mysterious power shot back the bolt in the lock. Then the gate opened, and the milkman placed on the window-sill the jug of milk, which the domestic took in later on. Perhaps the milkman thought a special mechanism allowed us to open the door. However that may be, his imagination was evidently at work, for he was heard to say aloud, when getting into his cart, ‘All the same, this is a very queer house.’ Sometimes, after having attended vespers either at Sainte-Croix or at the Vieillards, we used to take a long walk, and often we returned home tired and impatient to sit down and rest a while. So that we might not have to wait, an invisible hand used to knock at the door before we arrived there.