“Oh, I have heard you tell it many times,” said Ran. “Yes; but Mr. Legg hasn’t.” “Oh, I have done better than that. I have been through it. Why, man, I was the very Enokoff who helped Wallingski to make good his flight across the frontier. Only my real name was not Enokoff, but Legginoff, or Legenough, if you like it better,” said the greengrocer as he followed Ran from the drawing-room. Will Walling started, but could make nothing of the answer; yet to his circle of listeners he said in explanation: “Too bad of Hay to have anticipated me and told that old fellow the end of the story while they were pretending to listen.” Meanwhile Ran had led his companion to the library, where both sat down on a leathern armchair, on opposite sides of a narrow table, on which they leaned their arms, facing each other. “Now, then, sir, I am at your service,” said Legg. “Do you smoke?” inquired Ran. “Only occasionally; when I need a sedative and philosophy.” “Exactly. I smoke semi-occasionally for the same reasons. Will you take an exceptionally fine cigar now? It is an Isabella Regina.” “Thank you.” Ran produced a case and matches. They lighted their weeds and began to smoke. Ran let a few minutes elapse to allow the sedative to take some effect upon his guest, and then broke the subject for which he had brought the old man there. “Mr. Legg, I hope you will pardon me for asking a question that may seem to be an unpardonable liberty,” he said in a low voice. “Ask me what you please, sir. I am sure it will not be an offensive liberty, since you could not possibly take one,” gravely replied the old man. “Then, when did you hear from your son and your daughter?” “I have no son or daughter, sir. The young man and woman to whom you may allude forsook our humble way of life as soon as we had finished educating them above their position, each taking his or her way. Yet I am often sorry for them and anxious about them, for they were once my children, though they discard and despise me, for I know that for that very reason they must come to grief and shame in this world as well as in the next, if they do not repent and reform. For, look you, Mr. Hay, I am an old man, and all my long life I have noticed this one thing—that a man may break every commandment in the decalogue, except one, and he may escape punishment in this world, whatever becomes of him in the next. I say he may, and he often does. But if he breaks the Fifth Commandment—called the Commandment with Promise—his punishment, or his discipline of pain and failure, comes in this world. However, upon repentance, he may be forgiven in the next. This is the fruit of my observation and experience of men. I cannot answer for those of other people.”