“It shall be”—began Craig.

      “Done,” answered Fry.

      For such potent reasons Craig and Fry tried to get on familiar terms with Soun. Now, Soun was a man who could no more resist being enticed by taels than by the courteous offer of several glasses of American liquor.

      Craig-Fry then learned through Soun all that it was for their interest to know, the sum and substance of which is as follows:—

      Had Kin-Fo changed his manner of living in any way whatever?

      No: unless, perhaps, he scolded his faithful valet less, and gave the scissors a holiday to the advantage of the poor fellow’s pigtail, and seldom tickled his shoulders with the rattan.

      Had Kin-Fo any deadly weapon about him?

      No; for he did not belong to the respectable list of amateurs in the use of murderous instruments.

      What did he eat at his meals?

      A few simple dishes, which did not at all resemble the fantastic cooking of the Celestials.

      At what hour did he rise?

      At the fifth period, at cock’s crow, when the horizon was lighted by the first glimmer of dawn.

      Did he retire early?

      At the second period, as was always his habit since Soun had been acquainted with him.

      Did he seem sad, absent-minded, bored, and wearied with life?

      He was not positively a cheerful man, oh, no! Yet for several days he seemed to take more interest in the things of this world. Yes, Soun thought him less indifferent, like a man who might be expecting—what? He could not tell.

      Finally, did his master possess any poisonous substance which he might make use of?

      He could not have any; for that very morning, by his orders, they had thrown into the Houang-Pou a dozen little globules which must possess some dangerous quality.

      In truth, there was nothing in all this of a nature to alarm the principal agent of the Centenary. Not at all; for never had the wealthy Kin-Fo,—whose circumstances no one except Wang was aware of—appeared to enjoy life better.

      However this may be, Craig and Fry were obliged to continue to inform themselves about all that their patron did, and to follow him in his walks; for it was possible that he might make an attempt on his life away from home.

      Thus did the two inseparables; and thus did Soun continue to talk with the more abandon, because the latter had much to gain in a conversation with such amiable men.

      It would be going too far to say that the hero of this story valued life more since he had resolved to rid himself of it. But, as he expected,—in the first days at least,—he did not want for emotions. He placed Damocles’ sword directly over his head, and this sword would fall on it some day. Would it be to-day or to-morrow? this morning, or this evening? On this point there was some doubt; and hence a beating of the heart, which was a new sensation for him.

      Besides, since he and Wang had given their mutual word, they had seen each other but seldom.

      The philosopher either left the house more frequently than usual, or he remained shut up in his room. Kin-Fo did not go there to see him,—for that was not his rôle,—and was not even aware how Wang passed his time. Perhaps in preparing a trap for him. A former Tai-ping must have many means with which to despatch a man. Kin–Fo’s curiosity was roused in regard to this, and thus a new element of interest was afforded him. However, master and pupil met almost every day at the same table; and, of course, no allusion was made to their future position of assassin and assassinated. They talked of one thing and another, but not much about any thing. Wang, who was more serious than usual, turned away his eyes, which his spectacles but partially concealed, but did not succeed in disguising a constant abstraction. He who was so good-natured and naturally communicative had become taciturn and sad. A great eater formerly, like every philosopher who is blessed with a sound stomach, he could not now be tempted by delicate dishes, and the Chigne wine no longer brought him bright dreams. But Kin-Fo tried in every way to put him at his ease. He tasted every dish first, and would let nothing be removed from table without trying it. Hence it followed that he ate more than usual; his blunted palate again experienced sensations; and he relished his dinner, which agreed with him remarkably. It was certain that poison could not be the means chosen by the rebel chieftain’s old slaughterer, but his intended victim would try every thing.

      Besides, every facility was afforded Wang to accomplish his deed. The door of Kin-Fo’s chamber was always left open; and the philosopher could enter it day or night, and deal the fatal blow, whether his pupil was awake or asleep. All that Kin-Fo asked was, that his hand should be swift, and strike him to the heart.

      But his emotions were wearing off; and, after the first few nights, he was so accustomed to expect his death-blow, that he slept the sleep of the just, and awoke every morning fresh and bright. Things could not continue thus.