am sure of my listeners. I would play for you till breakfast to-morrow.'

The decanter contained a fluid of a pleasant green tint. He poured very
carefully this fluid to the depth of half an inch in one glass and
three-quarters of an inch in another glass. Then he filled both glasses
to the brim with water, accomplishing the feat with infinite pains and
enjoyment, as though it had been part of a ritual.

'There!' he said, offering me in his steady hand the glass which had
received the smaller quantity of the green fluid. 'Taste.'

'But what is it?' I demanded.

'Taste,' he repeated, and he himself tasted.

I obeyed. At the first mouthful I thought the liquid was somewhat
sinister and disagreeable, but immediately afterwards I changed my
opinion, and found it ingratiating, enticing, and stimulating, and yet
not strong.

'Do you like it?' he asked.

I nodded, and drank again.

'It is wonderful,' I answered. 'What do you call it?'

'Men call it absinthe,' he said.

'But--'