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“He came, and we stood about as if we were half stunned by the awful shock. Thus can the letting of a few drops of blood from one man’s veins drain the life of a nation.

“Presently Herr Bergowitz stooped and picked up a darkish stone the size of an orange which he saw under the table. He examined it closely through his great glasses with the eye of science.

“‘A fragment,’ said he, ‘of a detonating meteor. The most remarkable one in twenty years exploded above this city a little after midnight this morning.’

“The professor looked quickly up at the ceiling. We saw the blue sky through a hole the size of an orange nearly above Don Rafael’s chair.

“I heard a familiar sound, and turned. Kearny had thrown himself on the floor and was babbling his compendium of bitter, blood-freezing curses against the star of his evil luck.

“Undoubtedly Phoebe had been feminine. Even when hurtling on her way to fiery dissolution and everlasting doom, the last word had been hers.”

* * * * *

Captain Malone was not unskilled in narrative. He knew the point where a story should end. I sat reveling in his effective conclusion when he aroused me by continuing:

“Of course,” said he, “our schemes were at an end. There was no one to take Don Rafael’s place. Our little army melted away like dew before the sun.

“One day after I had returned to New Orleans I related this story to a friend who holds a professorship in Tulane University.

“When I had finished he laughed and asked whether I had any knowledge of Kearny’s luck afterward. I told him no, that I had seen him no more; but that when he left me, he had expressed confidence that his future would be successful now that his unlucky star had been overthrown.

“‘No doubt,’ said the professor, ‘he is happier not to know one fact. If he derives his bad luck from Phoebe, the ninth satellite of Saturn, that malicious lady is still engaged in overlooking his career. The star close to Saturn that he imagined to be her was near that planet simply by the chance of its orbit–probably at different times he has regarded many other stars that happened to be in Saturn’s neighbourhood as his evil one. The real Phoebe is visible only through a very good telescope.’

“About a year afterward,” continued Captain Malone, “I was walking down a street that crossed the Poydras Market. An immensely stout, pink-faced lacy in black satin crowded me from the narrow sidewalk with a frown. Behind her trailed a little man laden to the gunwales with bundles and bags of goods and vegetables.

“It was Kearny–but changed. I stopped and shook one of his hands, which still clung to a bag of garlic and red peppers.

“‘How is the luck, old /companero/?’ I asked him. I had not the heart to tell him the truth about his star.

“‘Well,’ said he, ‘I am married, as you may guess.’

“‘Francis!’ called the big lady, in deep tones, ‘are you going to stop in the street talking all day?’

“‘I am coming, Phoebe dear,’ said Kearny, hastening after her.”

Captain Malone ceased again.

“After all, do you believe in luck?” I asked.

“Do you?” answered the captain, with his ambiguous smile shaded by the brim of his soft straw hat.