e must pay the damages?" asked the indignant Chichoy.

"Ahem, ahem, a-h-hem!" coughed the silversmith, hearing steps in
the street.

The footsteps approached and all in the shop fell silent.

"St. Pascual Bailon is a great saint," declared the silversmith
hypocritically, in a loud voice, at the same time winking to the
others. "St. Pascual Bailon--"

At that moment there appeared the face of Placido Penitente, who was
accompanied by the pyrotechnician that we saw receiving orders from
Simoun. The newcomers were surrounded and importuned for news.

"I haven't been able to talk with the prisoners," explained
Placido. "There are some thirty of them."

"Be on your guard," cautioned the pyrotechnician, exchanging a
knowing look with Placido. "They say that to-night there's going to
be a massacre."

"Aha! Thunder!" exclaimed Chichoy, looking about for a weapon. Seeing
none, he caught up his blowpipe.

The silversmith sat down, trembling in every limb. The credulous
simpleton already saw himself beheaded and wept in anticipation over
the fate of his family.

"No," contradicted the clerk, "there's not going to be any
massacre. The adviser of"--he made a mysterious gesture--"is
fortunately sick."

"Simoun!"

"Ahem, ahem, a-h-hem!"

Placido and the pyrotechnician exchanged another look.

"If he hadn't got sick--"

"It would look like a revolution," added the pyrotechnician
negligently, as he lighted a cigarette in the lamp chimney. "And what
should we do then?"

"Then we'd start a real one, now that they're going to massacre
us anyhow--"

The violent fit of coughing that seized the silversmith prevented
the rest of this speech from being heard, but Chichoy must have been
saying terrible things, to judge from his murderous gestures with
the blowpipe and the face of a Japanese tragedian that he put on.

"Rather say that he's playing off sick because he's afraid to go
out. As may be seen--"

The silversmith was attacked by another fit of coughing so severe
that he finally asked all to retire.

"Nevertheless, get ready," warned the pyrotechnician. "If they want
to force us to kill or be killed--"

Another fit of coughing on the part of the poor silversmith prevented
further conversation, so the workmen and apprentices retired to their
homes, carrying with them hammers and saws, and other implements,
more or less cutting, more or less bruising, disposed to sell their
lives dearly. Placido and the pyrotechn