"Yes," added one of the guests, eagerly. "What coloured feather had
he?"

"Red," ejaculated another, immediately.

"Green," retorted the opposite faction, loudly, but Magog Brand said--

"It was neither red nor green," said he, "but a bright yellow."

Now, while this inquiry was being proceeded with, nobody happened to
observe one singular circumstance.

That was the presence, the whole of the time, in the motley-coloured
crowd, of one of the diabolical trio in question.

This very devil no sooner heard the question raised about the coloured
feathers in their head gear, than he doffed his hat unperceived and
pulled out the feather.

And then, as the controversy grew warmer, he sneaked off.

He made all possible haste for the garden gate.

Once here he was about to rush through, when he was accosted by two
men, whose uniform gave him an unpleasant twinge.

They were gendarmes.

"You cannot leave the ground yet, sir," said one of them sharply.