The sky might fall, fish fly, and sheep pursue The tawny monarch of the Libyan strand! but he lodged here. The mention of his adversary of last night, which had not escaped his ear, had only hardened him in his resolution. The room of Esau--or was it Louis' room--must be his! He must be Jacob the Supplanter. She did not speak as she preceded him down the stairs, and before they emerged one after the other into the living-room, which was still unoccupied, he had formed his plan. When she moved towards the outer door to open it he refused to follow: he stood still. "Pardon me," he said, "would you mind giving me the name of the young man who admitted me?" "I do not see----" "I only want his name." "Esau Tissot." "And his room? Which was it?" Grudgingly she pointed to the nearer of the two closets, that of which the door stood open. "That one?" "Yes." He stepped quickly into it, and surveyed it carefully. Then he laid his cap on the low truckle-bed. "Very good," he said, raising his voice and speaking through the open door, "I will take it." And he came out again. The girl's eyes sparkled. "If you think," she cried, her temper showing in her face, "that that will do you any good----" "I don't think," he said, cutting her short, "I take it. Your mother undertook that I should have the first vacant room. Tissot resigned this room this morning. I take it. I consider myself fortunate--most fortunate." Her colour came and went. "If you were a boor," she cried, "you could not behave worse!" "Then I am a boor!" "But you will find," she continued, "that you cannot force your way into a house like this. You will find that such things are not done in Geneva. I will have you put out!" "Why?" he asked, craftily resorting to argument. "When I ask only to remain and be quiet? Why, when you have, or to-night will have, an empty room? Why, when you lodged Tissot, will you not lodge me? In what am I worse than Tissot or Grio," he continued, "or--I forget the other's name? Have I the plague, or the falling sickness? Am I Papist or Arian? What have I done that I may not lie in Geneva, may not lie in your house? Tell me, give me a reason, show me the cause, and I will go." Her anger had died down while he spoke and while she listened. Instead, the lowness of heart to which she had yielded when she thought herself alone before the hearth showed in every line of her figure. "You do not know what you are doing," she said sadly. And she turned and looked through the casement. "You do not know what you are asking, or to what you are coming." "Did Tissot know when he came?" "You are not Tissot," she answered in a low tone, "and may fare worse." "Or better," he answered gaily. "And at worst----" "Worse or better you will repent it," she retorted. "You will repent it bitterly!" "I may," he answered. "But at least you never shall."