stood
an unwrapped mummy in a glass case.

In the midst of all this stood a common deal table, whereon were a
black bottle, and the remains of Madame's meal, which seemed to have
consisted of large supplies of underdone meat. In front of the fire was
a large, well-worn couch, and by it a small stout table such as
spiritualists use, on which gleamed a ball of glass or crystal. On this
couch was seated Madame clad in a kind of black dressing-gown and a
wide gold scarf tied about her ample waist. Her fat, massive face was
painted and powdered; on her head she wore a kind of mantilla also
gold-coloured, and about her neck a string of old Egyptian amulets.
Anything more unwholesome or uncanny than were her general appearance
and surroundings as the bright flames of the fire showed them in this
stuffy, shadowed room, it would be impossible to imagine.

"Sit down here by my side, my little son in the speerit, where I have
made a place ready for you, and let me hold your hand while you tell me
all that you have been doing and if you have been thinking much of me
and that beautiful Eleanor whom I sent to see you last night," went on
Madame Riennes in her ogreish, purring voice, patting the sofa.

Just then she looked up and caught sight of the Pasteur standing in the
shadow. Staring at him with her fierce, prominent eyes, she started
violently as though at last she had seen something of which she was
afraid.

"Say, my Godfrey," she exclaimed in a rather doubtful voice, "what is
this that you have brought with you? Is it a scarecrow from the fields?
Or is it a speerit of your own? If so, I should have thought that a
young man would have liked better the lovely Eleanor than this old
devil."

"Yes, Madame Jezebel," said the Pasteur striding forward, speaking in a
loud, high voice and waving a large umbrella, which had come partly
unfolded in his hurried walk. "It is a scarecrow--one that scares the
crows of hell who seek to pick out the souls of the innocent, like
_you_, Madame Jezebel."

Madame uttered a voluminous oath in some strange tongue, and sprang to
her feet with an agility surprising in one so stout.

"Say, who are you?" she ejaculated in French, confronting him.

"I am the Pasteur Boiset who accompany my ward to pay this little call,
Madame."

"Oh! indeed. That thief of a clergyman, who got his finger into the pie
of dead Mademoiselle, eh? Well, there are no more pickings here,
Pasteur, but perhaps you come t