of his identity.  In any case, her wrath at his scarcely chivalrous desertion of her in the house of a stranger would, he knew, be terrible.  He dared not face it.  He dared not allow his project of flight at dawn to be interfered with, as it certainly would be if he came across Madame.  He therefore proceeded to flee once more.  Nor did he pause until he had gained Mr. Ferdinand’s pantry, where stood the telescope.  Now, in this pantry there was a large cupboard in which were kept the very numerous and magnificent pieces of plate, etc., possessed by Mrs. Merillia; tall silver candelabra, standard lamps of polished bronze, richly-chased cups, gigantic vases for containing flowers, oriental incense holders upon stands of ebony, Spanish charcoal dishes of burnished brass, and other treasures far too numerous to mention.  This cupboard was always carefully locked at night, but on this occasion Mr. Ferdinand, totally disorganised by the frightful scenes which had taken place at his dinner table during the evening, had retired to bed in a condition of collapse, leaving it open.  Malkiel the Second, feeling frantically about in the dark, came upon the door of this cupboard, pulled it, found that it yielded to his hand, and, hearing the rapidly approaching voices of Madame and the Prophet, stumbled into the cupboard and sank down on a large gold loving-cup, with one foot in a silver soup tureen, and the other in a priceless sugar basin, just as the light of the candle borne by the Prophet glimmered in the darkness of the adjacent corridor.

“This way, Madame,” said the Prophet.  “But I really think such a proceeding is calculated to cause a grave scandal in the square.”

Malkiel the Second drew the cupboard door to, and grasped a silver candelabrum in each hand to sustain himself upon the rather sharp rim of the loving-cup.

“What is the square to me or I to the square?” returned Madame with ungrammatical majesty.  “Madame Malkiel is not governed by any ordinary laws. Lexes non scripta is her motto.  To these alone she clings.”

Her husband clung to the candelabra and burst into a violent perspiration.  Through the keyhole of the cupboard a ray of light now shone, and he heard the frou-frou of his partner’s skirt, the flump of the rabbit-skins as she cast them from her ample shoulders upon the floor.  The Prophet’s voice became audible again.

“What do you wish me to do?” he said, with a sort of embittered courtesy.

“Throw open the window, place yourself before the telescope, and proceed at once to your investigations,” replied the lady.

“I am not in a condition to investigate,” said the Prophet.  “I am not indeed.  If you will only let me get you a cab, to-morrow night—­”

“It is useless to talk, Mr. Vivian,” said Madame, very sharply.  “The cab has not yet been made that will convey me to the Mouse to-night.”

“But your husband—­”