or. There he stands, you see. A bravo waiting
for his prey, a distinguished noble waiting to save his country, the
common enemy waiting to do somebody a bad turn, an angelic messenger
waiting to do somebody a good turn--whatever you think he looks most
like!' 'Say, Professore Mio, a poor gentleman waiting to do homage to
elegance and beauty,' remarked Blandois.

'Or say, Cattivo Soggetto Mio,' returned Gowan, touching the painted
face with his brush in the part where the real face had moved, 'a
murderer after the fact. Show that white hand of yours, Blandois. Put it
outside the cloak. Keep it still.'

Blandois' hand was unsteady; but he laughed, and that would naturally
shake it.

'He was formerly in some scuffle with another murderer, or with a
victim, you observe,' said Gowan, putting in the markings of the hand
with a quick, impatient, unskilful touch, 'and these are the tokens of
it. Outside the cloak, man!--Corpo di San Marco, what are you thinking
of?'

Blandois of Paris shook with a laugh again, so that his hand shook more;
now he raised it to twist his moustache, which had a damp appearance;
and now he stood in the required position, with a little new swagger.

His face was so directed in reference to the spot where Little Dorrit
stood by the easel, that throughout he looked at her. Once attracted by
his peculiar eyes, she could not remove her own, and they had looked
at each other all the time. She trembled now; Gowan, feeling it, and
supposing her to be alarmed by the large dog beside him, whose head she
caressed in her hand, and who had just uttered a low growl, glanced at
her to say, 'He won't hurt you, Miss Dorrit.'

'I am not afraid of him,' she returned in the same breath; 'but will you
look at him?'

In a moment Gowan had thrown down his brush, and seized the dog with
both hands by the collar.

'Blandois! How can you be such a fool as to provoke him! By Heaven, and
the other place too, he'll tear you to bits! Lie down!

Lion! Do you hear my voice, you rebel!

'The great dog, regardless of being half-choked by his collar, was
obdurately pulling with his dead weight against his master, resolved to
get across the room. He had been crouching for a spring at the moment
when his master caught him.

'Lion! Lion!' He was up on his hind legs, and it was a wrestle between
master and dog. 'Get back! Down, Lion! Get out of his sight, Blandois!
What devil have you conjured into the dog?'

'I have do