is no book I have heard of, dealing with the black arts, which he does
not seem to know.' Dr Porhoët shook his head slowly. 'I should not care
to dogmatize about this man. I know I shall outrage the feelings of my
friend Arthur, but I am bound to confess it would not surprise me to
learn that he possessed powers by which he was able to do things
seemingly miraculous.'

Arthur was prevented from answering by their arrival at the Lion de
Belfort.

The fair was in full swing. The noise was deafening. Steam bands
thundered out the popular tunes of the moment, and to their din
merry-go-rounds were turning. At the door of booths men vociferously
importuned the passers-by to enter. From the shooting saloons came a
continual spatter of toy rifles. Linking up these sounds, were the voices
of the serried crowd that surged along the central avenue, and the
shuffle of their myriad feet. The night was lurid with acetylene torches,
which flamed with a dull unceasing roar. It was a curious sight, half
gay, half sordid. The throng seemed bent with a kind of savagery upon
amusement, as though, resentful of the weary round of daily labour, it
sought by a desperate effort to be merry.

The English party with Dr Porhoët, mildly ironic, had scarcely entered
before they were joined by Oliver Haddo. He was indifferent to the plain
fact that they did not want his company. He attracted attention, for his
appearance and his manner were remarkable, and Susie noticed that he was
pleased to see people point him out to one another. He wore a Spanish
cloak, the _capa_, and he flung the red and green velvet of its lining
gaudily over his shoulder. He had a large soft hat. His height was great,
though less noticeable on account of his obesity, and he towered over the