arious
objects of gold and silver were exposed for sale. The whole place
smelled strongly of Greek tobacco, but otherwise it was clean and neat.
A little raised dome in the middle of the ceiling admitted light and
air.

Marchetto disappeared for a moment, and instantly returned with two cups
of Turkish coffee on a pewter salver, which he deposited on a stool
before us. He evidently meant business, for he began to talk of the
weather, and seemed in no hurry to show us the object he had vaguely
mentioned. At last I asked for it, which I would certainly not have done
had I meant to buy it. It proved to be a magnificent strip of Rhodes
tapestry, of the kind formerly made for the Knights of Malta, but not
manufactured since the last century. It consists always of Maltese
crosses, of various sizes and designs, embroidered in heavy dark red
silk upon strips of coarse strong linen about two feet wide, or of the
same design worked upon square pieces for cushions. The value of this
tapestry is very great, and is principally determined by the fineness of
the stitch and the shade of red in the silk used.

Marchetto's face fell as we admired his tapestry, for he knew that we
would not begin a bargain by conceding the smallest merit to the object
offered. But he put a brave face on the matter, and began to show us
other things: a Giordes carpet, a magnificent piece of old Broussa gold
embroidery on pale blue satin, curious embroideries on towels, known as
Persian lace,--indeed, every variety of ancient stuff. Tired of sitting
still, I rose and turned over some of the things myself. In doing so I
struck my elbow against the old glass case in the corner, and looked to
see whether I had broken it. In so doing my eye naturally fell upon the
things laid out on white paper beneath the glazed frame. Among them I
saw a watch which attracted my attention. It was of silver, but very
beautifully engraved and adorned in Russian _niello_. The ribbed knob
which served to wind it was of gold. Altogether the workmanship was very
fine, and the watch looked new.

"Here is a Russian watch, Patoff," I said, tapping the glass pane with
my finger. Paul rose languidly and came to the table. When he saw the
thing he turned pale, and gripped my arm in sudden excitement.

"It is his," he said, in a low voice, trying to raise the lid.

"Alexander's?" Paul nodded. "Pretend to be indifferent," I said in
Russian, fearing lest Marchetto should understand.