now
drove. He acquainted him with the news he had just heard, respecting the
bankruptcy of Mr. Douce; and commissioned him to leave Paris, the first
moment he could obtain a passport, and to proceed to London.

At all events, he would arrive there some hours before Maltravers; and
those hours were something gained. This done, he drove to the nearest
hotel, which chanced to be the Hotel de M-----, where, though he knew it
not, it so happened that Lord Vargrave himself lodged. As his carriage
stopped without, while the porter unclosed the gates, a man, who had
been loitering under the lamps, darted forward, and prying into the
carriage-window, regarded Maltravers earnestly. The latter, pre-occupied
and absorbed, did not notice him; but when the carriage drove into the
courtyard it was followed by the stranger, who was muffled in a worn and
tattered cloak, and whose movements were unheeded amidst the bustle of
the arrival. The porter's wife led the way to a second-floor, just
left vacant, and the waiter began to arrange the fire. Maltravers threw
himself abstractedly upon the sofa, insensible to all around him, when,
lifting his eyes, he saw before him the countenance of Cesarini! The
Italian (supposed, perhaps, by the persons of the hotel to be one of
the newcomers) was leaning over the back of a chair, supporting his
face with his hand, and fixing his eyes with an earnest and sorrowful
expression upon the features of his ancient rival. When he perceived
that he was recognized, he approached Maltravers, and said in Italian,
and in a low voice, "You are the man of all others, whom, save one, I
most desired to see. I have much to say to you, and my time is short.
Spare me a few minutes."

The tone and manner of Cesarini were so calm and rational that they
changed the first impulse of Maltravers, which was that of securing a
maniac; while the Italian's emaciated countenance, his squalid
garments, the air of penury and want diffused over his whole appearance,
irresistibly invited compassion. With all the more anxious and pressing
thoughts that weighed upon him, Maltravers could not refuse the
conference thus demanded. He dismissed the attendants, and motioned
Cesarini to be seated.

The Italian drew near to the fire, which now blazed brightly and
cheerily, and, spreading his thin hands to the flame, seemed to enjoy
the physical luxury of the warmth. "Cold, cold," he said piteously, as
to himself; "Nature is a very bitter