when I looked up Marcel was standing before me.

"M. Granger," said he, abruptly, "it will be necessary for you to seek
another lodging."

"Why?"

"I would do you a service. The proof lies in the future. This house is
doomed."

"Poor Marcel," said I, with genuine pity, "some recent trouble has
turned your brain!"

"Mad!" he replied, laughing bitterly. "The wonder is that I am not. For
years I have been hunted,--hunted like a dog. Prisons have been my
dwelling-place, disguises my only clothing. My pillow is a spy; the very
atmosphere I breathe is analyzed."

"And what is your offense?"

"A desire to live as the great God intended an Italian should. A desire
to lift to his place among the free-born the corrupt descendant of
Coriolanus, now nourishing his miserable body on the _scudi_ extorted
from a stranger's patience. The vile crew whom our ancestors drove
howling and naked across the Danube, in undisturbed apathy gloat over
our dearest treasures. Our people are ground into the dust; our women,
stripped in the market-place, shriek under the pitiless lash of the
oppressor. One man, sworn to protect Italy with his life, can save her,
and has refused. That man dies."