"They are all gone," said the boy. "Wait," commanded the man. "They are putting out the lights." "Are all the lights out?" "No, one light is burning." "Wait!" The door opened again, and two men in evening dress came out on to the steps. "There are two men," said the boy, "but only one wears a hat." "Describe him to me." "He is not tall, he is thin, but I cannot see his face for his hat." "Look! look well!" "He goes back into the house. He takes off his hat. Wait! He is smoking. He strikes a match and holds it to his mouth. I can see him now." "Well! Of what colour is his hair?" "Very fair--yellow. His face is round, his eyes are light." The man in the sack ceased from his questions, but he gave no sign of either approval or disappointment. He sat still in the darkness until a voice from the little garden cried out with a French accent: "I cannot think what has come to the beast. He has got loose. And he was hobbled, Jeremy. You did hobble him, _hein?_" The boy began to laugh. "The little fat Christian is looking for the mule in the garden," said he. "Hush!" whispered the man, laying his hand upon the boy's mouth. "Listen! What does the other answer? Listen for his voice." "He does not answer," returned the boy. "He leans against the door, and smokes and waits, while the little fat Room searches for the mule." "Help to find the mule!" The boy laughed again, rose from the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. In a few minutes he returned, driving the mule in front of him. He drove it through the wicket of the garden. A few words passed between the little Frenchman and the boy. Then the boy came back to the man seated patiently outside the rim of the villa's lights. "What did he say to thee?" said the man. "He asked me if I had stolen the hobbles." "And thou didst answer?" "That I knew nothing of the hobbles. I said that I had found the mule loose in the Sôk, and seeing the lights, brought it to the house." "It is well. Now go, my son; go home and sleep, and forget the hours we have waited in the darkness outside the villa of the Room. Forget, so that in the morning they shall never have been. Go! God will reward thee!" The boy turned upon his heel, and ran down towards the town. The man was left alone. He remained squatting on the ground. He heard the French voice exclaim: "Good-night, Jeremy." But no answering voice returned the wish. Jeremy indeed contented himself with a careless nod of the head, mounted his mule, and passed out of the wicket gate. Jeremy passed within ten yards of the man seated upon the ground, who heard the padding of the mule's feet upon the grass and smelt the cigar. He did not move, however. A road ran between this stretch of grass and the Sôk beyond, and he waited until the mule's hooves rang upon it. Then he picked up the dark cloak by his side and ran swiftly and noiselessly down the grass, across the road, over the trampled Sôk. Ahead of him he heard the leisurely amble of the mule.