the great being addressed his adoring onlookers--

"Can any one," he said, with a pleasing foreign accent, "lend me a
pin?"

Mr. Lambert, who happened to be nearest, and who carried innumerable
pins for the purpose of attaching innumerable buttonholes, lent him
one, which was received with extravagant but dignified bows, and
hyperboles of thanks.

The gentleman in green, then, with every appearance of being
gratified, and even puffed up, pinned the piece of yellow paper to
the green silk and silver-lace adornments of his breast. Then he
turned his eyes round again, searching and unsatisfied.

"Anything else I can do, sir?" asked Lambert, with the absurd
politeness of the Englishman when once embarrassed.

"Red," said the stranger, vaguely, "red."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I beg yours also, Senor," said the stranger, bowing. "I was wondering
whether any of you had any red about you."

"Any red about us?--well really--no, I don't think I have--I used to
carry a red bandanna once, but--"

"Barker," asked Auberon Quin, suddenly, "where's your red cockatoo?
Where's your red cockatoo?"

"What do you mean?" asked Barker, desperately. "What cockatoo? You've
never seen me with any cockatoo!"

"I know," said Auberon, vaguely mollified. "Where's it been all the
time?"

Barker swung round, not without resentment.

"I am sorry, sir," he said, shortly but civilly, "none of us seem to
have anything red to lend you. But why, if one may ask--"

"I thank you, Senor, it is nothing. I can, since there is nothing
else, fulfil my own requirements."

And standing for a second of thought with the penknife in his hand, he
stabbed his left palm. The blood fell with so full a stream that it
struck the stones without dripping. The foreigner pulled out his
handkerchief and tore a piece from it with his teeth. The rag was
immediately soaked in scarlet.

"Since you are so generous, Senor," he said, "another pin, perhaps."

Lambert held one out, with eyes protruding like a frog's.

The red linen was pinned beside the yellow paper, and the foreigner
took off his hat.

"I have to thank you all, gentlemen," he said; and wrapping the
remainder of the handkerchief round his bleeding hand, he resumed his
walk with an overwhelming stateliness.

While all the rest paused, in some disorder, little Mr. Auberon Quin
ran after the stranger and stopped him, with hat in hand. Considerably
to everybody's astonishment, he addressed him in th