were placed there for fellows to rest on
who had few arm-chairs at home."

"I don't think, in all my experience of humanity, I ever saw a face
that revolted me more. He is n't ugly, but there is something in the
expression so intensely wicked, that mockery of all goodness, that
Retsch puts into Mephistopheles; it actually thrills me."

"I don't see that--there is even drollery in the mouth."

"Yes, diabolic humor, certainly. Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Did n't you see that when I lifted my glass to my lips, he made a
pantomime of drinking too, and bowed to me, as though in salutation?"

"I knew there was fun in the fellow. Let us call him over and speak to
him."

"No, no, Pracontal; do not, I beseech you. I feel an aversion towards
him that I cannot explain. The rascal poisons the very claret I 'm
drinking just by glancing at me."

"You are seldom so whimsical."

"Would n't you say the fellow knew we were talking of him? See he is
smiling now; if that infernal grin can be called a smile."

"I declare, I will have him over here; now don't go, sit down like a
good fellow; there's no man understands character better than yourself,
and I am positively curious to see how you will read this man on a
closer inspection."

"He does not interest, he merely disgusts, me."

Pracontal arose, drew nigh the window, and waved his napkin in sign
to the man, who at once got up from his seat, and slowly, and half
indolently, came over to the window. He was dressed in a sort of gray
uniform of jacket and trousers, and wore a kerchief on his head for a
cap, a costume which certainly in no degree contributed to lessen the
unfavorable impression his face imparted, for there was in his look a
mixture of furtiveness and ferocity positively appalling.

"Do you like him better now?" asked Longworth, in English.

And the fellow grinned at the words.

"You understand English, eh?" asked Pracontal.

"Ay, I know most modern languages."

"What nation are you?"

"A Savoyard."

"Whence do you come now?"

"From the galleys at Ischia."

"Frank that, anyhow," cried Longworth. "Were you under sentence there?"

"Yes, for life."

"For what offence?"

"For a score that I committed, and twice as many that I failed in."

"Murder, assassination?"

He nodded.

"Let us hear about some of them," said Pracontal, with interest.

"I don't talk of these things; they are bygones, and I 'd as soon forget
them."

"And do you f