Baba and his party arrived back at Cannes in the evening and the next morning he came to our room. When he entered I saw at once that he was almost wholly in a superconscious state, so I ran to take his arm and lead him to the couch. I sat down beside him while Malcolm stood before us. Baba looked first at one, then at the other with the expression of a little child who is dazed by some unearthly beauty which no words can describe.

"What is it, Baba dear?" I asked.

Looking at me as if I should know, he spelled out: Hadn't you heard about the "meeting"?

His eyes were so eloquent with anguished joy, that I could inwardly hear the plaintive tone in his unspoken words. This was one of his beautiful childlike moments.

"No, dear," I answered, "I hadn't heard."

Then he told us that a most important "meeting" had been held in the Eiffel Tower, and that ever since it had been difficult to hold himself in his physical body. He rested his head on my shoulder for a few moments, as he gathered his forces together to go on with the next phase of his daily work which never ceases. Finally, at his signal, we helped him to the door, where a couple of his devoted Indian men were waiting to assist him. When I saw him an hour later the painful transition had been accomplished. He was his usual dynamic self, playing again his cosmic game with the forces of the universe.