As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoid laughing aloud at the
figure before me. He stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side
of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other extended, leaning upon
his stick; a look of as much ferocity as such features could accomplish
had been assumed, and his whole attitude was a kind of caricature of a
melo-dramatic hero in a German drama.

"Why, O'Leary, what is all this?"

"Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper--"never mention that name
again, till we are over the frontier."

"But, man, explain--what do you mean?"

"Can't you guess," said he drily.

"Impossible; unless the affair at the saloon has induced you to take this
disguise, I cannot conceive the reason."

"Nothing farther from it, my dear friend; much worse than that."

"Out with it, then, at once."

"She's come--she's here--in this very house--No. 29, above the entre
sol."

"Who is here, in No. 29, above the entre sol?"

"Who, but Mrs. O'Leary herself. I was near saying bad luck to her."