“Yes, yes.  I’ll come.  Say I’ll come, Mr. Ferdinand.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the door closed the Prophet exclaimed excitedly,—­

“I fear I really must—­”

“Take down your directions, sir,” broke in Mr. Sagittarius, firmly.

“Very well,” rejoined the Prophet, desperately, seizing his pencil and the account-book.  “What are they?”

“You swear to follow them, sir?”

“Yes, yes, anything—­anything!”

“Have you a star map?”

“Yes—­no!”

“You must get one.”

“Very well.”

“You had better do so at the Stores.”

Madame breathed an almost sensuous sigh which caused her husband to glance tenderly towards her.

“I know, my love, I know,” he said.  “It may come some day.”

“O festum dies!  Longa intervallam!” she murmured, shaking her bonnet with the manner of a martyr to duty.

Mr. Sagittarius was greatly moved.

“She’s a saint,” he whispered aside to the Prophet, as if imparting some necessary information.

“Certainly.  Please go on!”

Mr. Sagittarius started, as if suddenly recalled to mundane matters.

“Get it at the Stores,” he said.  “In the astronomical department.”

“Very well.”

“Having done so, and keeping the old lady perpetually in your mind, you will place her in the claws of the crab—­”

“What!”

“Mentally, sir, mentally, of course.”

“Oh.”

“And, allowing for the natural effect of the scorpion and serpent upon one of her venerable age—­”

“Good Heavens!”

“When close round her, as they will be—­but you will observe that for yourself—­”

The Prophet shut his eyes as one who refuses to behold sacrilege.

“You will trace the cycloidal curve of the planets—­can you do that?”

The Prophet nodded.

“As it affects her birthday, the twentieth.  Should the lynx be near her—­”

“No, no!” cried the Prophet.  “It shall not be!”

“Well, you’ll have to find that out and keep an eye to it.  But should it be, you will commit to paper what result its presence is likely to produce to her, and work the whole thing out clearly for myself and Madame on paper—­in prophetic form, of course—­so that we receive it by—­what post shall I say, my dear?”

“First post, Jupiter.”

“First post on—­what day is the twentieth?”

“I don’t know,” replied the Prophet, helplessly.

“A Thursday,” said Madame.  “Capricornus’s day for chronic sections.”

“She always knows,” said Mr. Sagittarius to the Prophet.

“Always.”

“Very well then, first post Thursday morning.  Now is that quite clear?”

“Oh, quite, quite.”

“You will of course send the old lady’s horoscope to us at the same time with full particulars.”