“You look comical enough to make any one smile,” she replied, her lips scarcely moving, as she spoke through her nearly-closed teeth. “I suppose I do. But have you seen yourself in a glass? Whoever did that, knew his business; but you--you are not exactly pretty, you know. I can scarcely believe it is really you.” “You are not even clean,” she retorted, tossing her head. “I haven’t a hideous birth-mark and a double chin, at any rate.” “But you’re a Jew with a hook nose and your grey beard is as dirty as it is long.” We must have made an odd-looking couple in all truth--a fat, waddling, disfigured, old market woman and a dirty down-at-heels Jew pedlar, and I saw the station people were beginning to eye us suspiciously. “I think it’s time the market woman went home,” I said. “She is waiting for her mother, Jew.” “I think she’ll be found at home. Barosa didn’t mean her to leave to-night or she would have been here. Nothing matters now except to get you home.” “Where is Dr. Barosa?” “I don’t know.” This was true in the letter; I had never been down where he deserved to be. “When I saw him last he was in the hands of the police,” I added. “But I may be arrested also at any minute.” “Not by the police. You are pardoned, but the other arrest is imminent.” “What other arrest?” “This, by the old Jew,” I replied, linking my arm in hers to leave the station. “Let’s see how fast the market woman can waddle.” She was a willing prisoner and pressed close to me with a happy unrestrained laugh, and then clapped her hand to her face with an exclamation of dismay and let her head droop as we went out into the street. “Why did you cry out?” I asked. “It’s coming off. What shall I do?” she cried. “You shouldn’t have made me laugh. I didn’t expect to have to laugh when this was put on.” “Thank Heaven, we can laugh as much as we like now--even at one another. Can’t you get it all off? The Jew’s going,” I said, and I took off my grey beard, eyebrows, nose and wig, with a sigh of relief. “I’ve got all but the last bit off,” said Miralda, as she held up her face under the light of a lamp and laughed merrily. Cicatrice, birth-mark and double chin were in one piece and adhering now by the mark. I peeled this back carefully, and then held her upturned face close to mine. “I thought the Jew who arrested me was gone,” she said. “It was the market woman he arrested. Miralda is free--if she wishes.” “It doesn’t seem much like it;” and she moved in my arms. “Does she wish it?” “She doesn’t wish to go to prison.” “Does she wish to be free?” “Do you think it would be safe for her to be free in the streets alone?” “Is she willing to pay for an escort?” “It depends on the terms.” “There are several. The first is that you smile.” “I can do that although my face is still very sticky;” and she smiled and grimaced. “The next is to say one word and promise to answer a simple question.” “What question?”