ices of your friend
Trevanion, have become the fascinating figure you find me, and am now
Compte O'Lieuki, a Pole of noble family, banished by the Russian
government, with a father in Siberia, and all that; and I hope, by the
end of the week, to be able to cheat at ecarte, and deceive the very
police itself."

The idea of O'Leary's assuming such a metamorphosis was too absurd not
to throw me into a hearty fit of laughing, in which the worthy emigre
indulged also.

"But why not leave this at once," said I, "if you are so much in dread of
a recognition?"

"You forget the trial," added O'Leary, "I must be here on the 18th or all
my bail is forfeited."

"True--I had forgot that. Well, now, your plans?"--

"Simply to keep very quiet here till the affair of the tribunal is over,
and then quit France at once. Meanwhile, Trevanion thinks that we may,
by a bold stratagem, send Mrs. O'Leary off on a wrong scent, and has
requested Mrs. Bingham to contrive to make her acquaintance, and ask her
to tea in her room, when she will see me, en Polonais, at a distance, you
know--hear something of my melancholy destiny from Trevanion--and leave
the hotel quite sure she has no claim on me. Meanwhile, some others of
the party are to mention incidentally having met Mr. O'Leary somewhere,
or heard of his decease, or any pleasant little incident that may occur
to them."

"The plan is excellent," said I, "for in all probability she may never
come in your way again, if sent off on a good errand this time."

"That's what I'm thinking," said O'Leary; "and I am greatly disposed to
let her hear that I'm with Belzoni in Egypt, with an engagement to spend
the Christmas with the Dey of Algiers. That would give her a very pretty
tour for the remainder of the year, and show her the pyramids. But, tell
me fairly, am I a good Pole?"

"Rather short," said I, "and a little too fat, perhaps."

"That comes from the dash of Tartar blood, nothing more; and my mother
was a Fin," said he, "she'll never ask whether from Carlow or the
Caucasus. How I revel in the thought, that I may smoke in company
without a breach of the unities. But I must go: there is a gentleman
with a quinsey in No. 9, that gives me a lesson in Polish this morning.
So good-by, and don't forget to be well enough to-night, for you must be
present at my debut."

O'Leary had scarcely gone, when my thoughts reverted to Emily Bingham.
I was not such a coxcomb as to fancy her in lo