‘I know you, Gerald. The passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one side; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators, it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dislodged. ” The idea struck him as novel. He heard the woman talking again. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “It’s the spring,” he said. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask.
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