his arm. 'There!' he thought, 'I've strained a muscle.'

The Hungarian kept muttering, regardless of passers-by, "Swine! How you
threw them over! Two or three cracked heads, anyway--the cowardly
swine!"

"Look here!" said Swithin suddenly; "which is my way to the Goldene Alp?"

The Hungarian replied, "But you are coming with me, for a glass of wine?"

Swithin looked at the ground. 'Not if I know it!' he thought.

"Ah!" said the Hungarian with dignity, "you do not wish for my
friendship!"

'Touchy beggar!' thought Swithin. "Of course," he stammered, "if you put
it in that way--"

The Hungarian bowed, murmuring, "Forgive me!"

They had not gone a dozen steps before a youth, with a beardless face and
hollow cheeks, accosted them. "For the love of Christ, gentlemen," he
said, "help me!"

"Are you a German?" asked Boleskey.

"Yes," said the youth.

"Then you may rot!"

"Master, look here!" Tearing open his coat, the youth displayed his skin,
and a leather belt drawn tight round it. Again Swithin felt that desire
to take to his heels. He was filled with horrid forebodings--a sense of
perpending intimacy with things such as no gentleman had dealings with.

The Hungarian crossed himself. "Brother," he said to the youth, "come
you in!"

Swithin looked at them askance, and followed. By a dim light they groped
their way up some stairs into a large room, into which the moon was
shining through a window bulging over the street. A lamp burned low;
there was a smell of spirits and tobacco, with a faint, peculiar scent,
as of rose leaves. In one corner stood a czymbal, in another a great
pile of newspapers. On the wall hung some old-fashioned pistols, and a
rosary of yellow beads. Everything was tidily arranged, but dusty. Near
an open fireplace was a table with the remains of a meal. The ceiling,
floor, and walls were all of dark wood. In spite of the strange
disharmony, the room had a sort of refinement. The Hungarian took a
bottle out of a cupboard and, filling some glasses, handed one to
Swithin. Swithin put it gingerly to his nose. 'You never know your
luck! Come!' he thought, tilting it slowly into his mouth. It was
thick, too sweet, but of a fine flavour.

"Brothers!" said the Hungarian, refilling, "your healths!"

The youth tossed off his wine. And Swithin this time did the same; he
pitied this poor devil of a youth now. "Come round to-morrow!" he said,
"I'll give you a shirt or two."