still louder, at the same time laying my other hand on my sword; but
the stranger had already disappeared around the next corner, leaving
the cloak in my hand.

By and by my rage subsided; I still had the cloak, and this should
furnish the key to this singular adventure. I put it on and started to
go home. But before I had gone a hundred steps from the bridge,
somebody brushed by me, and whispered to me in French: "Take care,
Count; it can't be done to-night!" But before I could look around, this
person was far away, and I saw only a shadow flitting by the houses. I
saw at once that these whispered words were meant for the owner of the
cloak, and did not in any way concern me; but they shed no light on the
mystery.

The next morning I considered what would better be done in the matter.
My first thought was to have the mantle cried in the streets, as though
I had found it, but in that case the owner could have sent for it by
some third party, and I should be no wiser for my pains. While
I was thinking of this, I examined the mantle closely. It was of heavy
reddish-purple Genoese velvet, with a border of Astrachan fur, and
richly embroidered with gold. The splendid appearance of the cloak led
me to think of a plan that I resolved to put in execution. I took the
cloak to my store, and offered it for sale; but placed such a high
price on it that I was sure it would find no purchaser. My purpose in
this was to look everybody who asked about the furred cloak directly in
the eye. I thought that as I had had a momentary glimpse of the figure
of the unknown man after the loss of his cloak, I would know it among a
thousand. There were many admirers of the cloak, whose extraordinary
beauty attracted all eyes; but none of them resembled the stranger, and
not one of them would pay the exorbitant price of two hundred sequins.
It struck me as strange that when I asked one and another whether such
cloaks were common in Florence, they all answered, "no," and assured me
that they had never before seen such a rich and elegant piece of work.

As evening drew near, a young man, who had often been in my shop, and
who had already bid high for the cloak, came in, and threw down a purse
of sequins, exclaiming:

"Before God, Zaleukos, I must have your cloak, even if it beggars me."

He at once began to count out his gold pieces. I was in quite a
dilemma. I had only hung up the mantle in order that it might perhaps
catch the eye of its owne