street, leaving him still writhing in the loftiness of his enthusiasm.

When I had got out of his sight, I sank down upon a stone, and began
to think, with my face in my hands.

"And it was for this," I said to myself--"it was to hear such
propositions as this that I came to Sicily! That Polizzi is simply a
scoundrel, and his son another; and they made a plan together to ruin
me." But what was their scheme? I could not unravel it. Meanwhile,
it may be imagined how discouraged and humiliated I felt.

A merry burst of laughter caused me to turn my head, and I saw Madame
Trepof running in advance of her husband, and holding up something
which I could not distinguish clearly.

She sat down beside me, and showed me--laughing more merrily all the
while--an abominable little paste-board box, on which was printed a
red and blue face, which the inscription declared to be the face of
Empedocles.

"Yes, Madame," I said, "but that abominable Polizzi, to whom I advise
you not to send Monsieur Trepof, has made me fall out for ever with
Empedocles; and this portrait is not at all of a nature to make me
feel more kindly to the ancient philosopher."

"Oh!" declared Madame Trepof, "it is ugly, but it is rare! These
boxes are not exported at all; you can buy them only where they are
made. Dimitri has six others just like this in his pocket. We
got them so as to exchange with other collectors. You understand?
At none o'clock this morning we were at the factory. You see we