Raoul. “Mo pas l’aimein ca.”

     Clemence. “Miche Igenne, oap! oap! oap!”

     He. “Ye donne vingt cinq sous pou’ manze poule.”

     She. “Miche Igenne, dit—­dit—­dit—­”

     He. “Mo pas l’aimein ca!”

     She. “Miche Igenne, oap! oap! oap!”

     He. “Mo pas l’aimein ca!”

     She. “Miche Igenne, oap! oap! oap!”

Frowenfeld was not so greatly amused as the ladies thought he should have been, and was told that this was not a fair indication of what he would see if there were ten dancers instead of one.

How much less was it an indication of what he would have seen in that mansion early the next morning, when there was found just outside of Agricola’s bedroom door a fresh egg, not cracked, according to Honore’s maxim, but smashed, according to the lore of the voudous.  Who could have got in in the night?  And did the intruder get in by magic, by outside lock-picking, or by inside collusion?  Later in the morning, the children playing in the basement found—­it had evidently been accidentally dropped, since the true use of its contents required them to be scattered in some person’s path—­a small cloth bag, containing a quantity of dogs’ and cats’ hair, cut fine and mixed with salt and pepper.

“Clemence?”

“Pooh!  Clemence.  No!  But as sure as the sun turns around the world—­Palmyre Philosophe!”

CHAPTER LIV

“CAULDRON BUBBLE”

The excitement and alarm produced by the practical threat of voudou curses upon Agricola was one thing, Creole lethargy was quite another; and when, three mornings later, a full quartette of voudou charms was found in the four corners of Agricola’s pillow, the great Grandissime family were ignorant of how they could have come there.  Let us examine these terrible engines of mischief.  In one corner was an acorn drilled through with two holes at right angles to each other, a small feather run through each hole; in the second a joint of cornstalk with a cavity scooped from the middle, the pith left intact at the ends, and the space filled with parings from that small callous spot near the knee of the horse, called the “nail;” in the third corner a bunch of parti-colored feathers; something equally meaningless in the fourth.  No thread was used in any of them.  All fastening was done with the gum of trees.  It was no easy task for his kindred to prevent Agricola, beside himself with rage and fright, from going straight to Palmyre’s house and shooting her down in open day.

“We shall have to watch our house by night,” said a gentleman of the household, when they had at length restored the Citizen to a condition of mind which enabled them to hold him in a chair.

“Watch this house?” cried a chorus.  “You don’t suppose she comes near here, do you?  She does it all from a distance.  No, no; watch her house.”