"It must have been downright madness," returned Rose. "They hold a curious custom, it seems, in one of the towns of France: on St. Martin's Eve every one turns out at night with horns and lighted paper lanterns, which they parade about the streets for a couple of hours. It happened that Charlotte was there this very night: she had gone to the town to take the steamer for London. The lanterns were of various forms and devices, many of them being churches; and Charlotte was in her room when the show began, and saw it all. She had a sort of fit from terror," continued Rose in a whisper. "She was quite mad when she came to, fancying it was a thousand Benjas coming after her to torment her. Prance had always locked Brayford out of the room before, when these attacks came on; but she couldn't do it that night, for Charlotte had to be held; she was raving." "It is very strange," said Mr. St. John. "That is why I asked you whether you saw anything unusual in her manner,--any excitement. Of course I can't write and ask; I can't hint at it. They _say_ Charlotte is well, but if she were not I know they would never tell me, and I like to be at the top and bottom of everything. I'm mamma's true daughter for that." "Rose, I wish you had not told me this." "Why?" exclaimed Rose, opening her eyes very wide. He seemed to have spoken involuntarily. The retort and its surprised tone woke him from his dream, and all his senses were in full play again. "It is not pleasant to hear of women suffering. I can't bear it. Your sister must have gone through a great deal." "Oh, poor thing, yes she must. I'll not call her hard names again. And I do hope and trust the brain trouble has really left her." / "She seemed quite well. I saw no trace whatever of the mind's being affected. It must have been a sort of temporary fever. Rose, were I you, I think I would never talk of this." "I don't. I only said it to you. I assure you I wouldn't say a word of it to mamma to be made Empress tomorrow. She'd box my ears for me, as she used to do when I was a little girl." Mr. St. John rose to leave. "There's nothing more you have to say, Rose?" She knew as well as he that he alluded to Adeline. "There was nothing more, just then," she answered. "Mary Carr would, no doubt, see him later." He shook hands with Rose and was leaving the room, when Miss Carr came in. She uttered an exclamation of surprise. "I thought you had gone," she said. "Will you come with me and see old Madame de Beaufoy? I was in her room just now, and told her you had been here; she thought I ought to have taken you up to her; and she cried when she said how great a favourite you had been in those happy days, now gone by for ever." With some hesitation--for he did not care to see the family again, especially on that day--Mr. St. John suffered himself to be conducted to her room. The show people were still silently jostling each other on the staircase, passing up and down it.