Eusapia now asks for a little light ("_poco di luce_"). The small hand-lamp is lighted again, and the illumination is sufficient for us to see each other distinctly, including the arms, the head of the medium, the curtain, etc. The chain is formed again. The curtain flares widely out, and M. Sardou is several times touched by a hand which gives him a good whack on the shoulder, making him bend his head forward toward the table. In the presence of this manifestation and of these sensations we have again the impression that there has been a hand there, a hand different from those of the medium (which we continue carefully to hold),--and from ours, because we are holding each other's hands in the chain. Moreover, there is no one near the curtain, which is plainly visible. I thereupon remark, "Since there is a hand there, let it take from me this violin, as it did day before yesterday." I take the violin by the handle and hold it out to the curtain. It is at once taken and lifted, then falls to the floor. I do not for a moment let go the hand of the medium. Yet I grasp this hand with my right hand, for a moment, in order to pick up with my left the violin that has fallen near me. As I stoop down to the floor, I feel an icy breath upon my hand, but nothing more. I take the violin and put it on the table; then I take again with my left hand the hand of the medium, and, seizing the violin with my right, I hold it out again to the curtain. But Mme. Brisson, peculiarly incredulous, asks me to let her take it herself. She does so, holds it out to the curtain, and the instrument is snatched from her, in spite of all the efforts that she makes to retain it. Everybody declares they saw very distinctly this time. The hands of the medium have not been let go a single minute. It seems as if this experiment, made under these conditions, in sufficient light, ought to leave no doubt about the existence of a third hand of the medium which acts in obedience to her will. And yet!--