1. Movements of a chair at a distance, seen by the light of the moon, and in circumstances which proved that there was no mechanical connection. 2. The inflation and the movement of a curtain in the absence of wind or of any other ostensible cause. 3. The automatic winding up and moving about of a music-box. 4. Sounds proceeding from a piano and from an accordion which had not been touched. 5. A key turned in a lock, on the inside of the room where the seances were held, then placed upon the table, and again put back into the lock. 6. The overturning, by means of slow and correct evolutions, of a heavy moving table, which was afterwards found thus turned upside down. 7. The levitation of a heavy table, under conditions in which it would have been impossible to lift it in ordinary circumstances. 8. The appearance of blue marks upon a table previously spotless, and this done without the help of the ordinary methods of writing. 9. The sensation of blows, as if some one were striking the head, the arms, or the back, while the head, the hands, and the feet of the medium were plainly in view or held apart from the portions of the body that were touched. It is plain enough what part the above statements play in our argument. They are throughout simply confirmations of the experiments described above. At Cambridge, Eusapia was taken in the very act of deception; namely, the substitution of hands. While the controllers believed that they were holding her two hands, they were only holding one of them: the other was free. So these experimenters at Cambridge unanimously declared that "everything was fraud, from the beginning to the end," in Eusapia Paladino's _twenty seances_. In a paper sent to M. de Rochas, M. Ochorowicz contested this radical conclusion, for several reasons. Eusapia is very susceptible to suggestion, and, by indulging her inclination to fraud and not hindering it, they incite her to it still more by a kind of tacit encouragement. Moreover, her fraud is generally of an unconscious kind. I append here, as a particular illustration of this, a rather typical story about her: One evening, at Varsovie (says M. Ochorowicz), Eusapia is sleeping in her chamber by the side of ours. I have not yet gone to sleep, when suddenly I hear her rising and moving about with bare feet in the drawing-room. Then she enters her chamber again and approaches our door. I make a sign to Mme. Ochorowicz, who has waked up, to be quiet and to observe carefully what is going to take place. A moment after, Eusapia gently opens the door, comes up to my wife's toilet-table, opens a drawer, shuts it, and goes away, carefully avoiding making any noise. I hastily dress myself and we enter her chamber. Eusapia is quietly sleeping. The light of our candle seems to wake her. "What were you hunting for in our sleeping-room?"