"Senor Simoun, Senor Simoun!" he called.
The jeweler was at that moment entering his carriage.

Recognizing Placido, he checked himself.
"I want to ask a favor of you, to say a few words to you." Simoun made a sign of impatience which Placido in his perturbation did not observe.

In a few words the youth related what had happened and made known his desire to go to Hongkong.
"Why ?" asked Simoun, staring fixedly at Placido through his blue goggles.
Placido did not answer, so Simoun threw back his head, smiled his cold, silent smile and said, "All right! Come with me.

To Calle Iris!" he directed the cochero.
Simoun remained silent throughout the whole drive, apparently absorbed in meditation of a very important nature.

Placido kept quiet, waiting for him to speak first, and entertained himself in watching the promenaders who were enjoying the clear moonlight: pairs of infatuated lovers, followed by watchful mammas or aunts; groups of students in white clothes that the moonlight made whiter still; half-drunken soldiers in a carriage, six together, on their way to visit some nipa temple dedicated to Cytherea; children playing their games and Chinese selling sugar-cane.