us something of your story.
It must be even more interesting than ours."

"It would not take so long to tell," answered Patoff, with a melancholy
smile. In the gray light of the morning I was horrified to notice how
miserably thin and ill he looked; but even in his squalor, and in spite
of the long hair and immense beard, I could see traces of the beauty I
had so often heard described by Paul, and even by Cutter, who was rarely
enthusiastic about the appearance of his fellows. He seemed weak, too,
as though he had been half starved in his prison. I asked him how long
it was since he had eaten.

"Last night," he said, wearily, "they brought me food, but I could not
eat. A man in prison has no appetite." Then suddenly he opened the
window beside him, and put his head out into the cold blast, as though
to drink in more fully the sense of freedom regained. Balsamides looked
at him with a sort of pity which I hardly ever saw in his face.

"Poor devil!" he said, in a low voice. "We were just in time. He could
not have lasted much longer."

We reached the outskirts of Pera, and Alexander hastily withdrew his
head and sank back in the corner, as though afraid of being seen. He had
the startled look of a man who fears pursuit. At last we rattled down
the Grande Rue, and stopped before the door of Balsamides' house. It was
six o'clock in the morning, and the sun was nearly up. I thought it had
been one of the longest nights I ever remembered.

While Balsamides dismissed the coachman, I led Alexander quickly into
the house and up the narrow stairs. In a few minutes Gregorios joined
us, and coffee was brought.

"I think you could wear my clothes," he said, looking at Alexander with
a scarcely perceptible smile. "We are nearly the same height, and I am
almost as thin as you."

"If you would be so very kind as to send for a barber," suggested
Patoff. "I have never been allowed one, for fear I should get hold of
his razor and kill myself or somebody else."

"I will go and send one," said I. "And I will rouse your brother and
bring him back with me."

"Stop!" cried Balsamides. "You cannot go like that!" I had forgotten
that I still wore the adjutant's uniform. "Take care of our friend," he
added, "and I will go myself."

We should probably have felt very tired, after our night's excursion,
had we not been sustained by the sense of triumph at having at last
succeeded beyond all hope. It was hard to imagine what the effect wo