lifting his eyes, he saw before him the countenance of Cesarini! The
Italian (supposed, perhaps, by the persons of the hotel to be one of the
newcomers) was leaning over the back of a chair, supporting his face with
his hand, and fixing his eyes with an earnest and sorrowful expression
upon the features of his ancient rival. When he perceived that he was
recognized, he approached Maltravers, and said in Italian, and in a low
voice, "You are the man of all others, whom, save one, I most desired to
see. I have much to say to you, and my time is short. Spare me a few
minutes."

The tone and manner of Cesarini were so calm and rational that they
changed the first impulse of Maltravers, which was that of securing a
maniac; while the Italian's emaciated countenance, his squalid garments,
the air of penury and want diffused over his whole appearance,
irresistibly invited compassion. With all the more anxious and pressing
thoughts that weighed upon him, Maltravers could not refuse the
conference thus demanded. He dismissed the attendants, and motioned
Cesarini to be seated.

The Italian drew near to the fire, which now blazed brightly and
cheerily, and, spreading his thin hands to the flame, seemed to enjoy the
physical luxury of the warmth. "Cold, cold," he said piteously, as to
himself; "Nature is a very bitter protector. But frost and famine are,
at least, more merciful than slavery and darkness."

At this moment Ernest's servant entered to know if his master would not
take refreshments, for he had scarcely touched food upon the road. And
as he spoke, Cesarini turned keenly and wistfully round. There was no
mistaking the appeal. Wine and cold meat were ordered: and when the
servant vanished, Cesarini turned to Maltravers with a strange smile, and