"Riot has but one language," said the astute statesman Mistigris.

"Well," continued Schinner, "when I was brought into court in presence
of the magistrates, I learned that the cursed corsair was dead,
poisoned by Zena. I'd liked to have changed linen then. Give you my
word, I knew nothing of _that_ melodrama. It seems the Greek girl put
opium (a great many poppies, as monsieur told us, grow about there) in
the pirate's grog, just to make him sleep soundly and leave her free
for a little walk with me, and the old duenna, unfortunate creature,
made a mistake and trebled the dose. The immense fortune of that
cursed pirate was really the cause of all my Zena's troubles. But she
explained matters so ingenuously that I, for one, was released with an
injunction from the mayor and the Austrian commissary of police to go
back to Rome. Zena, who let the heirs of the Uscoque and the judges
get most of the old villain's wealth, was let off with two years'
seclusion in a convent, where she still is. I am going back there some
day to paint her portrait; for in a few years, you know, all this will
be forgotten. Such are the follies one commits at eighteen!"

"And you left me without a sou in the locanda at Venice," said
Mistigris. "And I had to get from Venice to Rome by painting portraits
for five francs apiece, which they didn't pay me. However, that was my
halcyon time. I don't regret it."

"You can imagine the reflections that came to me in that Dalmatian
prison, thrown there without protection, having to answer to Austrians
and Dalmatians, and in danger of losing my head because I went twice
to walk with a woman. There's ill-luck, with a vengeance!"

"Did all that really happen to you?" said Oscar, naively.