it twice?"

This last hit, coming after the carte and tierce we have described,
brought an expression of pain to Mr. Vane's face. He said abruptly:
"Excuse me, I desire to be alone for half an hour."

Machiavel bowed; and, instead of taking offense, said, in a tone full of
feeling: "Ah! I give you pain! But you are right; think it calmly over a
while, and you will see I advise you well."

He then made for the theater, and the weakish personage he had been
playing upon walked down to the river, almost ran, in fact. He wanted to
be out of sight.

He got behind some houses, and then his face seemed literally to break
loose from confinement; so anxious, sad, fearful and bitter were the
expressions that coursed each other over that handsome countenance.

What is the meaning of these hot and cold fits? It is not Sir Charles
who has the power to shake Mr. Vane so without some help from within.
_There is something wrong about this man!_

CHAPTER VI.

MACHIAVEL entered the green-room, intending to wait for Mrs. Woffington,
and carry out the second part of his plan.

He knew that weak minds cannot make head against ridicule, and with this
pickax he proposed to clear the way, before he came to grave, sensible,
business love with the lady. Machiavel was a man of talent. If he has
been a silent personage hitherto, it is merely because it was not his
cue to talk, but listen; otherwise, he was rather a master of the art
of speech. He could be insinuating, eloquent, sensible, or satirical, at
will. This personage sat in the green-room. In one hand was his diamond
snuffbox, in the other a richly laced handkerchief; his clouded cane
reposed by his side.

There was an air of success about this personage. The gentle reader,
however conceited a dog, could not see how he was to defeat Sir Charles,
who was tall, stout, handsome, rich, witty, self-sufficient, cool,
majestic, courageous, and in whom were united the advantages of a hard
head, a tough stomach, and no heart at all.

This great creature sat expecting Mrs. Woffington, like Olympian Jove
awaiting Juno. But he was mortal, after all; for suddenly the serenity
of that adamantine countenance was disturbed; his eye dilated; his grace
and dignity were shaken. He huddled his handkerchief into one pocket,
his snuff-box into another, and forgot his cane. He ran to the door in
unaffected terror.

Where are all his fine airs before a real danger? Love, intrigue,
diplomacy, we