She has now returned to her habitual intimacy. We took her to the Museum at the Louvre, which she had not visited, then to a meeting with M. Jules Bois who was making suggestion-experiments with Mme. Lina. Eusapia is very much interested in these. We speak of the jests and mimickings of the comedians. In the evening, at dinner, the brilliant conversation of Victorien Sardou, the repartees of Col. de Rochas, the questions (a little insidious) of Brisson, all interest her but it is evident that she never forgets herself. Thus, before dinner, she tells me that she has the headache, especially in the neighborhood of her wound, passes her hand through her hair ("which hurts her"), and asks me for a brush. "In order," she says, that "in case of a seance experiment, a stray hair shall not be found in the wrong place." And she carefully brushes her shoulders. I do not always appear to understand her. But there is no doubt that she understands that we have--found a hair! IV. (MORE RECENT NOTE,--MARCH, 1906.) On Thursday, March 29, Eusapia, being in Paris, came to see me. I had not seen her since her seances at my house in November, 1898. We kept her to dinner, and after dinner I asked her to take part with me in some experiments. I first asked her to place her hands upon the piano, thinking that perhaps some of its strings would vibrate. But nothing happened. I then induced her to place her hands on the covered keyboard. She asked that it be slightly opened by means of a little block. I placed my hands upon it, by the side of hers. My object was, by keeping up contact, to keep her from slipping a finger over the keys. She kept trying to substitute one hand for the two that I held, in such a way as to leave one of them free, and a few notes sounded. Result of the experiment, _nil_. We left the piano and went over to a white-wood table. We got some insignificant balancings. "Is there a spirit there?" "Yes" (indicated by three raps.) "Does it wish to communicate?" "Yes." I pronounce slowly and in their proper order the letters of the alphabet. Reply, "_Tua matre_," ("thy mother.") This certainly means "Tua madre." (note once more that Eusapia does not know how to read or write.) Eusapia noticed that I was in mourning and I had told her that my mother had died on the first of last July. I then asked to be told her name. (Eusapia does not know it.) No reply. The movements of the table which were next asked for gave no results of any particular value.