'The mid-day bells will ring--in forty minutes.' When he made the
little pause, he had looked round the prison-room, as if for
certain information.

'You are a clock. How is it that you always know?'

'How can I say? I always know what the hour is, and where I am.
I was brought in here at night, and out of a boat, but I know where
I am. See here! Marseilles harbour;' on his knees on the
pavement, mapping it all out with a swarthy forefinger; 'Toulon
(where the galleys are), Spain over there, Algiers over there.
Creeping away to the left here, Nice. Round by the Cornice to
Genoa. Genoa Mole and Harbour. Quarantine Ground. City there;
terrace gardens blushing with the bella donna. Here, Porto Fino.
Stand out for Leghorn. Out again for Civita Vecchia. so away to--
hey! there's no room for Naples;' he had got to the wall by this
time; 'but it's all one; it's in there!'

He remained on his knees, looking up at his fellow-prisoner with a
lively look for a prison. A sunburnt, quick, lithe, little man,
though rather thickset. Earrings in his brown ears, white teeth
lighting up his grotesque brown face, intensely black hair
clustering about his brown throat, a ragged red shirt open at his
brown breast. Loose, seaman-like trousers, decent shoes, a long
red cap, a red sash round his waist, and a knife in it.

'Judge if I come back from Naples as I went! See here, my master!
Civita Vecchia, Leghorn, Porto Fino, Genoa, Cornice, Off Nice
(which is in there), Marseilles, you and me. The apartment of the