“But I thought the Baron never came to the Marchesa’s séances. Does she not say that he disapproves of Spiritualism?” “Well! I would not be sure--I may be mistaken--but he is a man of much the same build. Why! there is Cicero! But where can the gentleman be? I hope the spirits have not carried him away!” They proceeded to amuse themselves with Cicero, who was one of those influences who seem sent on this earth simply to prove that they can come, and whilst they were pulling his woolly hair, and putting their fingers into his mouth, to see if he had any teeth, a hollow groan from the cabinet was succeeded by the sudden reappearance of the unknown gentleman, who, passing rapidly through their midst, vanished into the bedroom, and let himself out by the further door. His unaccountable exit left a sort of gloom and distrust behind it, which seemed to have a discouraging effect upon the spirits, for none else appeared that afternoon. The sitters after waiting for half an hour in silence, resolved that they had better separate, and rising, created a little disturbance, which served to bring the medium to herself. She gave three or four extensive yawns--opened her eyes--closed them again--and finally, leaving her seat, walked out into the assembly, and asked, “Well! have you had a good séance?” Everybody was vehement in their assertions that nothing could have been more successful or delightful, until Lady Loreley said, “Except for one poor gentleman, whom the spirits took into the cabinet, and what they said to him there we do not know, but as soon as he emerged again, he left the room, and has not returned since.” “But _what_ gentleman?” asked the Marchesa, “I think all whom I invited are present!” “We do not know! None of us have seen him before! It was dark when he joined the circle, or I should have said he was the Baron. He was very like him in shape and build!” “And which Spirit took him into the cabinet?” demanded Hannah, breathlessly. “O! the old man who has come so often, and asked for the Baron! We have told you about him, dear Marchesa! An old man with grey hair, and piercing eyes, and a pointed beard like Vandyke’s. A nice face, he has, but very attenuated. He reminds me of that figure in Madame Tussaud’s, of some old man who was starved to death in the Bastille!” “But what does he say?” said the Marchesa, who seemed strangely agitated. “O! he has never said anything until this afternoon--only looked round the circle as if in search of somebody, and called ‘Karl’ once or twice.”