deeply impressed with the idea of French spies at some time in her life; and the notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from time to time.  And now her theory was this:- The Cranford people respected themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who were so kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the robbers were strangers—­if strangers, why not foreigners?—­if foreigners, who so likely as the French?  Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs Forrester had seen a print of Madame de Stael with a turban on, and another of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in which the conjuror had made his appearance, showing clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, wore turbans.  There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman—­a French spy come to discover the weak and undefended places of England, and doubtless he had his accomplices.  For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, had always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at the “George Inn”—­seeing two men where only one was believed to be.  French people had ways and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew nothing about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind about going to see that conjuror—­it was rather too much like a forbidden thing, though the rector was there.  In short, Mrs Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her before, and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked up to her opinion, of course.

Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports which flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to me then that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by holes made in the walls, the bricks being silently carried away in the dead of the night, and all done so quietly that no sound was heard either in or out of the house.  Miss Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of this.  “What was the use,” said she, “of locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round the house every night?  That last trick was fit for a conjuror.  Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the bottom of it.”

One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a hasty knock at the door.  Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through the window; and she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the head of the visitor, in case he should show a face covered with black crape, as he looked up in answer to her inquiry of who was there.  But it was nobody but Miss Pole and Betty.  The former came upstairs, carrying a little hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great agitation.

“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to relieve her of her basket.  “It’s my plate.  I am sure there is a plan to rob my house to-night.  I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, Miss Matty.  Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the ‘George.’  I can sit up here all night if you will allow me; but my house is so far from any neighbours, and I don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever so!”