The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. Madame shrugged. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable.
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