length his obstinacy was overcome, as much
by the absurdity of the affair as its personal inconvenience.

"Cease, cease," he cried; "have done with this, and the money you demand
shall be forthcoming. A pack of fiends were better companions, I trow,
than your blackamoor troop. Let me on, then, and I will lead you to my
cash-box, and after you have there satisfied yourselves, I pray you to
go your ways like honest thieves, as you are."

"Take heed what you say, Jean," replied the chief masker. "We are
honest, that is true enough, and we only want a fair payment for our
services. Our band never performs for a less price than a thousand
crowns, nor will we ask more than this of a worthy soldier like
yourself. So lead the way, my friend, we follow close on your steps."

With jingling steel and shrilly pipe, the troop retraced its course,
till on arriving at the lodging-place of Jean Maret, the latter paid
down the needful scot, indulging himself while counting out the coin in
various hearty objurgations which seemed to add no little to the
amusement of his hearers. Meanwhile, from mouth to mouth, among the
villagers, who gathered round the scene, passed the whispered murmur:

"Sartello, the bandit chief, and his followers!"

The person thus indicated turned to the shrinking crowd, and lifting the
mask from his face, he addressed them thus:

"Good friends, our play is finished. The players through me, desire to
make you their most respectful bow, thanking you for your good company.
We rejoice to see that you are pleased with our endeavors for your
amusement, and will hope that when next we chance to meet, we may
therein be as fortunate as now."

At the word, each of the troop made a low obeisance, and with their
leader, quickly retreated from the village. By slow degrees, the streets
were cleared, though here and there a few lingered along to talk over
the occurrences of the night. It was not till near the dawn of morn that
the village again became quiet, when in the early dew, a carriage drove
swiftly up to the inn, the door of which the coachman, having leaped
from his seat, banged with might and main. At length old Gaspar thrust
his night-capped head from an upper window.

"What means this cursed din?" he angrily exclaimed.

"Come down--come down!" the coachman replied, in a gruff voice. "Here is
Prince Reklovstt waiting at your door."

"Good Heaven!" exclaimed the landlord, withdrawing his head in a
fluster.