in front of a toilet mirror, he applied a stain to his face,
giving it the color of that of a sunburnt tiller of the fields. When his
disguise was completed, he surveyed himself triumphantly in the glass.
Even his father could not have recognized him, so radically had he
altered his appearance.

Gaining the street by a private door without being observed, he was
speedily at the bridge. As he stepped into the shadow of one of the
abutments, he heard the great clock of the Vatican strike seven. It was
twilight, but everything around him was as plainly visible as in broad
day. He glanced in every direction. No sign of Giovanni. Had the ardent
young Viscount already crossed the Tiber?

He thought not, and waited patiently for a quarter of an hour. Still no
sign. Then he began to grow anxious. Massetti had certainly passed over
the bridge and he had missed him. He waited a few minutes longer,
devoured by impatience and anxiety. At last he reached the conclusion
that Giovanni had preceded him, had gone on alone, unprotected. He must
have done so; otherwise he would certainly have appeared ere this. The
thought was torture. To what unknown, what deadly perils was he exposing
himself amid the marshes without the city walls? But perhaps he had not
yet left the city walls behind him! A ray of hope came to Esperance. If
Massetti were still within the limits of the Trastavere, he might by
using due speed overtake him! He would make the attempt at any rate. As
he formed this resolution, he emerged from the shadow of the abutment.
At that instant a man came upon the bridge and passed him. He passed so
closely that they almost touched, uttering a suppressed oath at finding
an intruder in his path. His pace was rapid, so rapid that he was soon
far away. He had not even looked at Esperance, and it seemed to the
latter that he had endeavored to conceal his face. The man was of
Giovanni's size and had Giovanni's bearing, but there the resemblance
ended. He was certainly a peasant; his attire betokened it; besides, his
countenance, of which Esperance had caught a glimpse, was rough and
tanned. The son of Monte-Cristo felt a pang of keen disappointment; then
he glanced at his own garments, thought of his own stained visage, and a
revelation came to him like a flash of lightning--the man was
Giovanni--Giovanni in disguise! He hurriedly looked after his retiring
figure; it was now but a mere speck in the distance, scarcely
discernible in the