“My husband is a coward, unworthy of such a wife as he possesses.  At the crisis of our fortunes—­What’s that?”

At this painful moment Malkiel the Second was so overcome by emotion, that he trembled, and allowed his left foot to rattle slightly on the sugar basin.

“What was it?” repeated Madame.

“Rats, I have no doubt,” answered the Prophet, who had heard nothing.  “I believe that the basements of these old houses are simply—­well—­simply permeated with rats.”

For a moment Madame blanched, but she was a woman of spirit, and moreover she was almost intoxicated with ambition.  Recognised at last as a lady of position and importance in one of the mansions of the idiotic great, she was more anxious than ever to remove forthwith into the central districts, there to exercise that sway which she had so long desired.  Finding that there exists a world in which prophets—­far from being considered as dirty and deceitful persons—­are worshipped and adored, entertained with Pommery and treated almost as gods, she yearned to dwell in the midst of it.  The peaceful seclusion of the Mouse was become hateful to her.  The architects and their wives began to seem to her uplifted fancy little better than the circle that frequented Hagglin’s Buildings, or appeared at the paltry entertainments given by the inhabitants of Drakeman’s Villas.  She was resolved to soar, and even rats should not turn her from her passionate purpose.  Accordingly she replied,—­

“Rats or no rats, I intend to see this matter out. Dixisti! The night wanes.  Kindly go at once to the telescope.”

The Prophet obeyed, first opening the window into the area.  The rain had now cleared off, but the sky was still rather cloudy, and only a few stars peeped here and there.

“Really,” said the Prophet, after applying his weary eye to the machine, “really I don’t think it’s any good, there are so very—­”

“Have the goodness to place the old lady in the claws of the Crab, according to the directions of the coward who has deserted me.”

Malkiel shook with shame upon the loving-cup.

“But I really can’t find the Crab,” said the Prophet, who was so tired that he could scarcely stand.  “I can see the Great Bear.”

“That is no use.  The Bear has nothing to do with the old lady.  You must find the Crab.  Look again.”

The Prophet did so.  But his eye blinked with fatigue and the heavens swam before it.

“There is no Crab to-night,” he said.  “I assure you on my honour there is none.”

Exactly as he finished making this statement a low whistle rang through the silence of the night.  The Prophet started, Madame jumped, and Malkiel bounded on the loving-cup.

The whistle was repeated.

“It’s the thing!” whispered the Prophet.

“What thing?” inquired Madame, who had become rather pale.

“The dark thing that told me the Crab was dressed.  It has come again.”