rms of
invocation on six strips of paper. When the boy arrived, the sorcerer
threw incense and one of the paper strips into the chafing-dish, then
took the boy's right hand and drew a square and certain mystical marks on
the palm. In the centre of the square he poured a little ink. This formed
the magic mirror. He desired the boy to look steadily into it without
raising his head. The fumes of the incense filled the room with smoke.
The sorcerer muttered Arabic words, indistinctly, and this he continued
to do all the time except when he asked the boy a question.

'"Do you see anything in the ink?" he said.

'"No," the boy answered.

'But a minute later, he began to tremble and seemed very much frightened.

'"I see a man sweeping the ground," he said.

'"When he has done sweeping, tell me," said the sheikh.

'"He has done," said the boy.

'The sorcerer turned to me and asked who it was that I wished the boy
should see.

'"I desire to see the widow Jeanne-Marie Porhoet."

'The magician put the second and third of the small strips of paper into
the chafing-dish, and fresh frankincense was added. The fumes were
painful to my eyes. The boy began to speak.

'"I see an old woman lying on a bed. She has a black dress, and on her
head is a little white cap. She has a wrinkled face and her eyes are
closed. There is a band tied round her chin. The bed is in a sort of
hole, in the wall, and there are shutters to it."

The boy was describing a Breton bed, and the white cap was the _coiffe_
that my mother wore. And if she lay there in her black dress, with a band
about her chin, I knew that it could mean but one thing.

'"What else does he see?" I asked the sorcerer.

'He repeated my question, and presently the boy spoke again.

'"I see four men come in with a long box. And there are women crying.
They all wear little white caps and black dresses. And I see a man in a
white surplice, with a large cross in his hands, and a little boy in a
long red gown. And the men take off their hats. And now everyone is
kneeling down."

'"I will hear no more," I said. "It is enough."

'I knew that my mother was dead.

'In a little while, I received a letter from the priest of the village in
which she lived. They had buried her on the very day upon which the boy
had seen this sight in the mirror of ink.'

Dr Porhoet passed his hand across his eyes, and for a little while there
was silence.

'What have you to say to that?' asked