and almost mesmerical, in the rapport between two evil natures. Bring
two honest men together, and it is ten to one if they recognize each
other as honest; differences in temper, manner, even politics, may make
each misjudge the other. But bring together two men unprincipled and
perverted--men who, if born in a cellar, would have been food for the
hulks or gallows--and they understand each other by instant sympathy.
The eyes of Franzini, Count of Peschiera, and Randal Leslie no sooner met
than a gleam of intelligence shot from both. They talked on indifferent
subjects,--weather, gossip, politics,--what not. They bowed and they
smiled; but all the while, each was watching, plumbing the other's heart,
each measuring his strength with his companion; each inly saying, "This
is a very remarkable rascal; am I a match for him?" It was at dinner
they met; and following the English fashion, Madame di Negra left them
alone with their wine.

Then, for the first time, Count di Peschiera cautiously and adroitly made
a covered push towards the object of the meeting.

"You have never been abroad, my dear sir? You must contrive to visit me
at Vienna. I grant the splendour of your London world; but, honestly
speaking, it wants the freedom of ours,--a freedom which unites gayety
with polish. For as your society is mixed, there are pretension and
effort with those who have no right to be in it, and artificial
condescension and chilling arrogance with those who have to keep their
inferiors at a certain distance. With us, all being of fixed rank and
acknowledged birth, familiarity is at once established. Hence," added
the count, with his French lively smile,--"hence there is no place like
Vienna for a young man, no place like Vienna for /bonnes fortunes/."

"Those make the paradise of the idle," replied Randal, "but the purgatory