nd turned to depart, another small hand was laid upon it and it was
returned to the counter. Something was said in a low-pitched undertone,
and the two sisters--if Frowenfeld's guess was right--confronted each
other. For a single instant only they stood so; an earnest and hurried
murmur of French words passed between them, and they turned together,
bowed with great suavity, and were gone.

"The Cession is a mere temporary political manoeuvre!" growled M.
Fusilier.

Frowenfeld's merchant friend came from his place of waiting, and spoke
twice before he attracted the attention of the bewildered apothecary.

"Good-day, Mr. Frowenfeld; I have been told that--"

Joseph gazed after the two ladies crossing the street, and felt
uncomfortable that the group of gossips did the same. So did the black
attendant who glanced furtively back.

"Good-day, Mr. Frowenfeld; I--"

"Oh! how do you do, sir?" exclaimed the apothecary, with great
pleasantness, of face. It seemed the most natural thing that they should
resume their late conversation just where they had left off, and that
would certainly be pleasant. But the man of more experience showed an
unresponsive expression, that was as if he remembered no conversation
of any note.

"I have been told that you might be able to replace the glass in this
thing out of your private stock."

He presented a small, leather-covered case, evidently containing some
optical instrument. "It will give me a pretext for going," he had said
to himself, as he put it into his pocket in his counting-room. He was
not going to let the apothecary know he had taken such a fancy to him.

"I do not know," replied Frowenfeld, as he touched the spring of the
case; "I will see what I have."

He passed into the back room, more than willing to get out of sight
till he might better collect himself.

"I do not keep these things for sale," said he as he went.

"Sir?" asked the Creole, as if he had not understood, and followed
through the open door.

"Is this what that lady was getting?" he asked, touching the remnant of
the basil in the box.

"Yes, sir," said the apothecary, with his face in the drawer of a table.

"They had no carriage with them." The Creole spoke with his back turned,
at the same time running his eyes along a shelf of books. Frowenfeld
made only the sound of rejecting bits of crystal and taking up others.
"I do not know who they are," ventured the merchant.

Joseph still gave no answer