an onion, enjoined me to silence. A whisper breathed into my ear, 'He
sleeps!' Then, as we were sure that nobody would see us, we went to
walk, Zena and I, upon the ramparts, but accompanied, if you please,
by a duenna, as hideous as an old portress, who didn't leave us any
more than our shadow; and I couldn't persuade Madame Pirate to send
her away. The next night we did the same thing, and again I wanted to
get rid of the old woman, but Zena resisted. As my sweet love spoke
only Greek, and I Venetian, we couldn't understand each other, and so
we quarrelled. I said to myself, in changing linen, 'As sure as fate,
the next time there'll be no old woman, and we can make it all up with
the language of love.' Instead of which, fate willed that that old
woman should save my life! You'll hear how. The weather was fine, and,
not to create suspicion, I took a turn at landscape,--this was after
our quarrel was made up, you understand. After walking along the
ramparts for some time, I was coming tranquilly home with my hands in
my pockets, when I saw the street crowded with people. Such a crowd!
like that for an execution. It fell upon me; I was seized, garroted,
gagged, and guarded by the police. Ah! you don't know--and I hope you
never may know--what it is to be taken for a murderer by a maddened
populace which stones you and howls after you from end to end of the
principal street of a town, shouting for your death! Ah! those eyes
were so many flames, all mouths were a single curse, while from the
volume of that burning hatred rose the fearful cry: 'To death! to
death! down with the murderer!'"

"So those Dalmatians spoke our language, did they?" said the count. "I
observe you relate the scene as if it happened yesterday."

Schinner was nonplussed.