of a great revenge, and such men as he take, like the greater
volcanoes, a long time to cool down. He had been prepossessed in
the favour of the man who subsequently owned to being Frederick
Conyngham. And the very manner in which this admission was made
redounded in some degree to the honour of the young Englishman.
Here, at least, was one who had no fear, and fearlessness appeals to
the heart of every Briton from the peer to the navvy.

Sir John took a certain cold interest in his surroundings, and in
due course was recommended to spend an evening at the Cafe des
Ambassadeurs, as it styled itself, for the habit of preferring
French to Spanish designations for places of refreshment had come in
since the great revolution. Sir John went, therefore, to the cafe,
and with characteristic scorn of elemental disturbance chose to
resort thither on the evening of the great gale. The few other
occupants of the gorgeous room eyed his half-bottle of claret with a
grave and decorous wonder, but made no attempt to converse with this
chill-looking Englishman. At length, about ten o'clock or a few
minutes later, entered one who bowed to Sir John with an air full of
affable promise. This was Larralde, who called a waiter and bade
him fetch a coat-brush.

'Would you believe it, sir?' he said, addressing Sir John in broken
English, 'but I have just escaped a terrible death.'

He shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and laughed good-
humouredly, after the manner of one who has no foes.

'The fall of a chimney--so--within a metre of my shoulder.' He
threw back his cloak with a graceful swing of the arm and handed it