moment; 'but I'm afraid I don't grasp the idea of the promise.'
'Don't they want to make use of you?'
'I see what you mean,' said Hyacinth. 'You think they want me to touch off some train for them. Well, if that's what troubles you, you may sleep sound. I shall never do any of their work.'
A radiant light came into the fiddler's face, and he stared, as if this assurance were too fair for nature. 'Do you take your oath to that? Never anything, anything, anything?'
'Never anything at all.'
'Will you swear it to me by the memory of that good woman of whom we have been speaking and whom we both loved?'
'My dear old Pinnie's memory? Willingly.'
The old man sank down in his chair and buried his face in his hands; the next moment his companion heard him sobbing. Ten minutes later he was content to take his departure, and Hyacinth went out with him to look for another cab. They found an ancient four-wheeler stationed languidly at a crossing of the ways, and before Mr. Vetch got into it he asked his young friend to kiss him. That young friend watched the vehicle get itself into motion and rattle away; he saw it turn a neighbouring corner. Then he approached the nearest gas-lamp and drew from his breast-pocket the letter that Schinkel had given him.
