thereby to earn a place at the assassin's table to spread the
fame of which I labour. Camoens held out his hand for charity
in the streets of Lisbon. Tudesco stretches forth his in the
byways of the modern Babylon, but it is to give and not to
receive--lunches at 1 fr. 25, dinners at 1 fr. 75," and he offered
one of his bills to a passer-by, who strode on, hands in pockets,
without taking it.

Thereupon the Marquis Tudesco heaved a sigh and exclaimed:

"And yet I have translated the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, the
masterpiece of the immortal Torquato Tasso! But the brutal-minded
booksellers scorn the fruit of my vigils, and in the empyrean
the Muse veils her face so as not to witness the humiliation
inflicted on her nursling."

"And what has become of you all the time since we last saw you?"
asked the young man frankly.

"God only knows, and 'pon my word! I think He has forgotten."

Such was the Marquis Tudesco's oracular answer.

He tied up his bundle of papers in a cloth, and taking his pupil by
the arm, urged him in the direction of the _Rue Saint-Jacques_.

"See, my young friend," he said, "the dome of the Panthéon is
half hidden by the fog. The School of Salerno teaches that the
damp air of evening is inimical to the human stomach. There is
near by a decent establishment where we can converse as two