"Open it!" was once more the cry--this time with great vehemence.

"But I am innocent of concealing anything! Believe me, there is
nothing to declare! I have some photographic plates--to open them
is ruin! I prize my shirts--they are heirlooms--if they are roughly
handled I can never wear them again." And the foreigner wrung his
hands in his despair.

"If you will not open it," replied the official, unmoved by his
eloquent appeal, "we shall detain your luggage."

"But this is barbarous--cruel," continued the foreigner, answering
with excitement. "I have been to Constantinople with its mosques, and
the Turks have treated me with greater consideration. I have seen the
glories of Rome with its Forum, the splendours of Petersburg with its
fortress prison, the treasures of Madrid with its art gallery--and
everywhere--everywhere I have been treated with greater kindness,
greater charity than here! And yet you say this is the land of the
brave and the free!"

"We say nothing of the sort," retorted the official; "we say, open
it!"

The foreigner, whose pallor was fearful to see, with his teeth
clenched and his eyes starting from his head, put the key into the
portmanteau lock, turned it, and the contents of the box was revealed
to view.

In a moment the officials were upon it--thrusting their inquisitive
hands here, there, and everywhere. There was a salad of boots,