And where was Prance? Her mistress had said to her on going down to dinner, "Wait for me in my room;" but Prance for once neglected to observe the mandate. For one thing, she had not supposed dinner would be over so soon. Prance was only in the next chamber: perfectly absorbed, both she and Mrs. Brayford, in this strange sight, which was all real; not supernatural, as perhaps poor Mrs. St. John had been thinking. They stood at the window both of them, their necks stretched out as far as they could stretch, gazing with amazed eyes at all this light and din. Nothing of the supernatural did it bear for them: they saw the scene as it was, but wondered at its cause and meaning. It was a wonderfully novel and pretty sight, though the two women kept petulantly stopping their ears and laughing at the din. The lighted toys, lanterns, churches, or whatever you please to call them, were chiefly composed of paper, the frames of splinters of wood; a few were of glass. They were borne aloft on long sticks or poles, chiefly by children; but it seemed as if the whole population had turned out to escort them; as indeed it had. The Flemish maids, in their white caps, carried these toys as well as the children, all in a state of broad delight, except when one of the lanterns took fire and was extinguished for evermore. It was a calm night: it generally is so, the inhabitants of that town will tell you, on St. Martin's Eve. The uproar proceeded from _horns_; cows' horns, clay horns, brass horns, any horns; one of which every lad under twenty held to his lips, blowing with all his might. Prance, who rarely exhibited curiosity about any earthly thing, was curious as to this, and sought for an explanation amidst the servants of the hotel. The following was the substance of it-- When the saint, Martin, was on earth in the flesh, sojourning in this French-Flemish town, his ass was lost one dark night on the neighbouring downs. The holy man was in despair, and called upon the inhabitants to aid him in his search. The whole population responded with a will, and turned out with horns and lanterns, a dense fog prevailing at the time. Tradition says their efforts were successful, and the lost beast was restored to its owner. Hence commenced this annual custom, and most religiously has it been observed ever since. On St. Martin's Eve and St. Martin's Night, the 10th and 11th of November, as soon as darkness comes on, the principal streets of the town are perambulated by crowds carrying their horns and lanterns. It is looked upon almost as a religious fête, and is sanctioned by the authorities. Police keep the streets clear; carriages, carts, and horses are not allowed to pass during the two or three hours that it prevails; and, in short, every consideration gives way to the horns and lanterns on St. Martin's Eve and Night.