At 11.30 the lamp is turned up. It is comparatively bright in the room. The curtain, after all these movements, is seen to be more and more pushed aside, enveloping the head of Eusapia. Suddenly, above her head, we all see the tambourine slowly appear and fall upon the table with a noise like that of sheep-bells. It seems to me brighter than the feeble glimmer of the concealed lamp would justify and as if accompanied by white phosphorescent gleams; but they are perhaps flashes of light from its gilded ornaments, which, however, ought to appear yellower. When the lamp is turned down, the noise of moving furniture is heard; the round table is fetched clear up onto the top of the large table. It is removed, and the tambourine executes a dance all alone with a peculiar sound like the ringing of bells. Mme. Fourton says that she has had her hand pressed and her fore-arm pinched. At 11.45 the window curtain is closed in its turn; and, after a moment, we all see in the direction in which the cleft in the corner curtain ought to be, above Eusapia's head, a large white star of the color of Vega, though larger and of a softer light, and which rests motionless for some seconds, then is extinguished. Shortly after, a zigzag glimmer of light, of the same white color, runs over the right-hand curtain, tracing two or three upright lines of several inches in length, like an N very much elongated. In spite of the fact that night has fallen, there is still sufficient light entering by the two uncurtained windows, and proceeding from the vague glimmer of the lamp behind the easy-chair, to enable each one of us to distinguish his neighbors. Our silhouettes are outlined in the large mirror near us and above the sofa. The white collars of the men are clearly seen, their faces a little less clearly. Yet on my left I see very plainly M. Baschet, on my right Mme. Brisson, standing and holding her hand up to her face to shield the eyes. I also distinguish Mme. Flammarion, who has come and seated herself near her. M. Flammarion feels an object gliding over his hair. He begs Mme. de Labadye to take hold of it; and a music-box falls into his hands, which, before the seance, was placed upon the ogee, in the corner concealed by the curtain. M. Brisson has taken the place at the table formerly occupied by M. Flammarion, facing Eusapia. A cushion hits him full in the face. As I am approaching the mirror, I see the reflection of this passing cushion by the comparatively bright light at the far end of the room. M. Baschet seizes the object and rests his elbow upon it. It is snatched from him, flies over our heads, hits the mirror, falls upon the sofa, and rolls upon my foot. All this without my being able to perceive any movement on the part of the medium.