!"

Half in joke, and half to humor him in his fancy for mere muscular
force, I rolled up the sleeve of my jacket to the shoulder, saying,
lightly,

"Oh, as for being strong! There is plenty of strength in me still, you
see."

He stared; laid his yellow fingers on my bared arm with a kind of
ghoul-like interest and wonder, and felt the muscles of it with
childish, almost maudlin admiration.

"Beautiful, beautiful!" he mumbled. "Like iron--just think of it! Yes,
yes. You could kill anything easily. Ah! I used to be like that once. I
was clever at sword-play. I could, with well-tempered steel, cut
asunder a seven-times-folded piece of silk at one blow without fraying
out a thread. Yes, as neatly as one cuts butter! You could do that too
if you liked. It all lies in the arm--the brave arm that kills at a
single stroke."

And he gazed at me intently with his small blear eyes as though anxious
to know more of my character and temperament. I turned abruptly from
him, and called his attention to my own discarded garments.

"See," I said, carelessly; "you can have these, though they are not of
much value. And, stay, here are another three francs for some socks and
shoes, which I dare say you can find to suit me."

He clasped his hands ecstatically, and poured out a torrent of thanks
and praises for this additional and unexpected sum, and protesting by
all the saints that he and the entire contents of his shop were at the
service of so generous a stranger, he at once produced the articles I
asked for. I put them on--and then stood up thoroughly equipped and
ready to make my way back to my own home when I chose. But I had
resolved on one thing. Seeing that I was so greatly changed, I
determined not to go to the Villa Romani by daylight, lest I should
startle my wife too suddenly. Women are delicate; my unexpected
appearance might give her a nervous shock which perhaps would have
serious results. I would wait till the sun had set, and then go up to
the house by a back way I knew of, and try to get speech with one of
the servants. I might even meet my friend Guido Ferrari, and he would
break the joyful news of my return from death to Nina by degrees, and
also prepare her for my altered looks. While these thoughts flitted
rapidly through my brain, the old ragpicker stood near me with his head
on one side like a meditative raven, and regarded me intently.

"Are you going far?" he asked at last, with a kind of timidity.

"