Pepusch paused, and it may be easily supposed with what eagerness the citizens waited for what he had to discover. The host also had approached them, and all three poked their heads together, with their arms crossed upon the table, and held in their breath, that they might not lose a syllable from Peregrine's mouth. "See, my good people," he continued solemnly, "see; he, whom you call the Balletmaster, Legénie, is no other than the evil, awkward genius, Thetel; the other, whom you take for the Douanier, Leech, is the hateful bloodsucker, the Leech-Prince. Both are in love with the Princess, Gamaheh, who, as you know, is the daughter of the mighty king, Sekakis, and are here to make her false to the Thistle, Zeherit. This is the greatest folly that ever entered into a foolish brain, for, besides the Thistle, Zeherit, there is but one person in the world to whom she can belong, and this person would perhaps vainly enter into the contest with Zeherit. For soon the Thistle will bloom at midnight in full splendour and strength, and in the death of love dawns the morning of a higher life. Now, I myself am the Thistle, Zeherit, and, therefore, my good friends, you cannot blame me if I am indignant with those traitors, and altogether take the whole affair much to heart." The three listeners opened their eyes wide, and stared, speechlessly, at Pepusch, with open mouths. They had tumbled out of the clouds, as people say, and their heads were humming with the fall. But Pepusch emptied a bumper, and, turning to the host, said, "Yes, yes, mine host; you will soon see that I shall bloom as the _Cactus grandiflorus_, and the whole country round will be impregnated with its perfume. You may believe me, friends." The host could utter nothing but an exclamation of stupid surprise--"Eh! that would be the deuce!" The two citizens exchanged mysterious glances, and one, taking George's hand, said with a doubtful smile, "You seem to be somewhat disquieted, my good Mr. Pepusch; how, if you were to take a glass of water, and--" "Not a drop!" exclaimed Peregrine, interrupting the well-meant counsel; "not a drop! Has water ever been poured upon boiling oil without increasing the fury of the flames?--I am disquieted, you say? In truth that may well be the case; how the devil can I be otherwise, after having exchanged shots with my bosom friend, and then sending a bullet through my own brain?--Here, into your hands I deliver up the murderous weapons, now that all is over." Pepusch drew a brace of pistols from his pocket, whereat the host started back; the citizens snatched at them, but, no sooner had they fairly hold of them, than they burst out into immoderate laughter. The pistols were of wood, a plaything from the Christmas fair. Pepusch seemed to pay no attention to what was going on about him; he sate in deep thought, and continually cried out, "If I could but find him! if I could but find him!"