And then suddenly he noticed that some one was sitting at their little table. It was strange that he had not seen him before, for the table was small and they were near the door. But he had been absorbed in his thoughts and his eyes had been turned away. A little man in brown sat at his side, quite silently, his eyes fixed on the window; he did not seem to have noticed their presence. His age might have been anything between forty and fifty, but he had a prosperous air as of one who had found life a pleasant affair and anything but a problem; a gentleman, Maradick concluded. And then he suddenly looked up and caught Maradick’s gaze. He smiled. It was the most charming smile that Maradick had ever seen, something that lightened not only the face but the whole room, and something incredibly young and engaging. Tony caught the infection of it and smiled too. Maradick had no idea at the time that this meeting was, in any way, to be of importance to him; but he remembered afterwards every detail of it, and especially that beautiful sudden smile, the youth and frankness in it. In other days, when the moment had assumed an almost tragic importance in the light of after events, the picture was, perhaps, the most prominent background that he possessed; the misted, entangled light struck the little dark black table, the sanded floor, the highraftered ceiling: then there were the dark spaces beyond peopled with mysterious shapes and tumultuous with a hundred voices. And finally the quiet little man in brown. “You have been watching the festival?” he said. There was something a little foreign in the poise and balance of the sentence; the English pronunciation was perfect? but the words were a little too distinct. Maradick looked at him again. There _was_, perhaps, something foreign about his face—rather sallow, and his hair was of a raven blackness. “Yes,” said Maradick. “It was most interesting. I have never seen anything quite like it before.” “You followed it?” he asked. “Yes.” Maradick hesitated a little. “Rather!” Tony broke in; “we danced as well. I never had such fun. We’re up at the hotel there; we saw the lights and were tempted to come down, but we never expected anything like that. I wish there was another night of it.” He was leaning back in his chair, his greatcoat flung open and his cap tilted at the back of his head. The stranger looked at him with appreciation. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s _the_ night for our little town, but it’s been kept more or less to ourselves. People don’t know about it, which is a good thing. You needn’t tell them or it will be ruined.” “Our town.” Then the man belonged to the place. And yet he was surely not indigenous. “It’s not new to you?” said Maradick tentatively. “New! Oh! dear me, no!” the man laughed. “I belong here and have for many years past. At least it has been my background, as it were. You would be surprised at the amount that the place contains.”