suddenly chanced to fall on a gaunt, spectral figure, undressed,
unwashed, unshaved, decked out in a red worsted night-cap, its left
cheek swollen, as if with cold or tooth-ache, and seated bolt
upright in the very next bed, scarce six inches off my nose. And
this figure was----but I need add no more; the reader must by this
time have fully anticipated my discovery.

That night I started from Bologne. I could no more have endured to
stop there, conscious that the town contained my persecutor, than I
could have flown. Accordingly, after a hurried breakfast, I
proceeded to arrange what little business I had to transact; and
this completed, away I posted to the well-known shop of Monsieur
----, dentist, perruquier, and general agent to the steam-packet
company. Fortunately the little man was at home, and received me
with his usual courtesy. He was very, very sorry that he could not
stay to converse with me, but a patient in the inner parlour
required his immediate attendance; he must therefore--. I
entreated him not to apologize; my business was simple--it was
merely to ascertain at what hour the first packet sailed; and having
so said, and received a satisfactory reply, I prepared to quit the
shop, when just as I was turning round to shut the door, I caught a
glimpse through the half-closed curtains that shaded the inner room
of a cheek and one eye. The cheek was swollen, and a solitary patch
of snuff rested, like a fly, upon its surface. It was the Mysterious
Tailor; he had come in to have his tooth pulled out.

Notwithstanding my anxiety to quit Bologne, it was evening before I
was on board the packet; nor did I feel myself at ease, until the
heights had dwindled to a speck, and the loud carols of the
fishermen returning home from their day's sport, had sunk into a