ry still
claiming him as the dungeon's own. Now it chanced that the _Cigarette_
had passed some years of his life in Egypt, where he had made
acquaintance with two very bad things, cholera morbus and pashas; and in
the eye of the Commissary, as he fingered the volume of Michelet, it
seemed to our traveller there was something Turkish. I pass over this
lightly; it is highly possible there was some misunderstanding, highly
possible that the Commissary (charmed with his visitor) supposed the
attraction to be mutual, and took for an act of growing friendship what
the _Cigarette_ himself regarded as a bribe. And at any rate, was there
ever a bribe more singular than an odd volume of Michelet's history! The
work was promised him for the morrow, before our departure; and
presently after, either because he had his price, or to show that he was
not the man to be behind in friendly offices, "_Eh bien_," he said, "_je
suppose qu'il faut lacher votre camarade_." And he tore up that feast of
humour, the unfinished _proces-verbal_. Ah, if he had only torn up
instead the _Arethusa's_ roundels! There are many works burnt at
Alexandria, there are many treasured in the British Museum, that I could
better spare than the _proces-verbal_ of Chatillon. Poor bubuckled
Commissary! I begin to be sorry that he never had his Michelet:
perceiving in him fine human traits, a broad-based stupidity, a gusto in
his magisterial functions, a taste for letters, a ready admiration for
the admirable. And if he did not admire the _Arethusa_, he was not alone
in that.

To the imprisoned one, shivering under the public covering, there came
suddenly a noise of bolts and chains. He sprang to his feet, ready to
welcome a companion in calamity; and instead of that, the door was flung
wide, the friendly gendarme appeared above in the strong daylight, and
with a magnificent gesture (being probably a student of the
drama)--"_Vous etes libre_!" he said. None too soon for the _Arethusa_.
I doubt if he had been half an hour imprisoned; but by the watch in a
man's brain (which was the only watch he carried) he should have been
eight times longer; and he passed forth with ecstasy up the cellar
stairs into the healing warmth of the afternoon sun; and the breath of
the earth came as sweet as a cow's into his nostril; and he heard again
(and could have laughed for pleasure) the concord of delicate noises
that we call the hum of life.

And here it might be thought that my