mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one

bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a

journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons

worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers

fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high-shouldered shaggy

black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or

dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and

showed what they wanted.

As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another

man in a corner, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss

Pross. No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a

scream, and clapped her hands.

In a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That

somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference

of opinion was the likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see

somebody fall, but only saw a man and a woman standing staring

at each other; the man with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman

and a thorough Republican; the woman, evidently English.

What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples

of The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was

something very voluble and loud, would have been as so much

Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they

had been all ears. But, they ha