king towards
the city.

"Where are Vere and the Marchesino?"

Hermione had spoken. Artois, whose imagination had been fascinated by
the instincts of the crowd, and whose intellect had been chained to
watchfulness during its strange excitement, looked sharply round.

"Vere--isn't she here?"

He saw at once that she was gone. But he saw, too, that Gaspare was no
longer with them. The watch-dog had been more faithful than he.

"They must be close by," he added. "The sudden movement separated us, no
doubt."

"Yes. Gaspare has vanished too!"

"With them," Artois said.

He spoke with an emphasis that was almost violent.

"But--you didn't see--" began Hermione.

"Don't you know Gaspare yet?" he asked.

Their eyes met. She was startled by the expression in his.

"You don't think--" she began.

She broke off.

"I think Gaspare knows his Southerner," Artois replied. "We must look
for them. They are certain to have gone with the crowd."

They followed the people into the Mercato. The burning balloon dropped
down and disappeared.

"It has fallen into the Rettifilo!" cried a young man close to them.

"Macche!" exclaimed his companion.

"I will bet you five lire--"

He gesticulated furiously.

"We shall never find them," Hermione said.

"We will try to find them."

His voice startled her now, as his eyes had startled her. A man in the
crowd pressed against her roughly. Instinctively she caught hold of
Artois' arm.

"Yes, you had better take it," he said.

"Oh, it was only--"

"No, take it."

And he drew her hand under his arm.

The number of people in the Mercato was immense, but it was possible to
walk on steadily, though slowly. Now that the balloon had vanished the
crowd had forgotten it, and was devoting itself eagerly to the pleasures
of the bar. In the tall and barrack-like houses candles gleamed in honor
of Masaniello. The streets that led away towards the city's heart
were decorated with arches of little lamps, with columns and chains of
lights, and the pedestrians passing through them looked strangely black
in this great frame of fire. From the Piazza before the Carmine the
first rocket rose, and, exploding, showered its golden rain upon the
picture of the Virgin.

"Perhaps they have gone back into the Piazza."

Hermione spoke after a long silence, during which they had searched
in vain. Artois stood still and looked down at her. His face was very
stern.

"We sha'n't find them," he