“I do, ma’am.  I allude to the Mouse that has helped to make Madame and self what we are.”

Sir Tiglath began to roll about in his chair preparatory to some deliverance, and Mrs. Merillia, casting a somewhat agitated glance at her grandson, answered,—­

“Really.  I did not know that anything so small could have so much influence.”

“It may be small, ma’am,” said Mr. Sagittarius.  “But to a sensitive nature it often seems gigantic.”

“You mean at night, I suppose?  Does it disturb you very much?”

“We hear it, ma’am, but it lulls us to rest.”

“Indeed.  That is very fortunate.  I fear it might keep me awake.”

“So we thought at first.  But now we should miss it.  Should we not, Sophronia?”

“Doubtless,” replied Madame, arranging a napkin carefully over her fichu, and dealing rigorously with some mayonnaise sauce.  “It has been our perpetual companion for many years, mus amicus humano generi.”

Sir Tiglath swelled, and Mrs. Merillia responded,—­

“I see, a pet.  Is it white?”

“No, ma’am,” returned Mr. Sagittarius, “it is a rich, chocolate brown except on wet days.  Then it takes on the hue of a lead pencil.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Merillia, trying nobly to remain social.  “How very curious!”

“We worship it in summer,” continued Mr. Sagittarius.  “In the sultry season it soothes and calms us.”

“Then it is quite tame?”

“At that time of year, but in winter nights it is sometimes almost wild.”

“Ah, I daresay.  They often are, I know.”

“The architects and their wives love it as we do.”

“Do they?  How very fortunate!”

“We should hate to miss it even for a moment.”

“Oh, Mr. Vivian!” whispered Lady Julia, “this is dreadful.  I’m almost sure he’s brought it with him.”

“No, no.  It’s not alive.”

“A dead mouse!”

“It’s a river.”

“A river!  But he said it was a mouse.”

“It’s both.  Mr. Sagittarius,” added the Prophet, in a loud and desperate tone of voice, “you’ll find this champagne quite dry.  You needn’t be afraid of it.”

“Did you get it from by the rabbit shop, sir?” asked Mr. Sagittarius, lifting his glass.  “I ordered a dozen in, only the day before yesterday.”

Lady Julia began to tremble.

“I see,” she whispered to the Prophet.  “His mania is about animals.”

Meanwhile the Prophet had made a warning face at Mr. Sagittarius, who suddenly remembered his danger and subsided, glancing uneasily at Sir Tiglath, whose intention of addressing him had been momentarily interfered with by a sweetbread masked in a puree of spinach.

Madame Sagittarius, assisted by food and dry champagne, was now—­as the Prophet perceived with horror—­beginning to feel quite at her ease.  She protruded her elbows, sat more extensively in her chair, rolled her prominent eyes about the room as one accustomed to her state, and said, with condescension, to Lady Julia,—­