bsurd, when a by-stander stepped forward and addressed them. "Before
this contest goes farther," he said, "permit me to say a few words. Of
all here present, it is I, I believe, who have the best right to the
portrait in dispute."

All eyes were turned towards the speaker. He was a tall, handsome man,
of about thirty-five, with a pleasant, cheerful countenance, a careless
style of dress, and long black curls flowing down his neck. He was
personally known to many present, and the name of B----, the artist,
was circulated through the room.

"Extraordinary as my words may appear to you," he resumed, perceiving he
had fixed the general attention, "I can explain them if you are disposed
to give me five minutes' audience. I have every reason to believe that
this portrait is one I have long sought in vain."

Curiosity was expressed on every countenance; the auctioneer stood
open-mouthed and with uplifted hammer; all entreated B---- to tell his
tale. The artist at once complied.

"You are all acquainted," he said, "with the quarter of St Petersburg
known as the Kolomna, and aware that it is chiefly occupied by persons
either in poverty, or whose resources are exceedingly limited, many of
whom, compelled by unforeseen circumstances to outstrip their limited
income, frequently find themselves in want of immediate and temporary
assistance; compelled, in short, to apply to money-lenders. In
consequence of this, there has settled amongst them a particular class
of usurers, who supply petty sums on satisfactory pledges, and at
enormous interest. These pawnbrokers on a small scale are generally far
more pitiless than the aristocratic usurer, whose customers drive to his
door in their carriages. Compunction, humanity, a feeling of pity for
the unfortunates upon whose need they fatten, never by any chance enter
their breast. Amongst these callous extortioners there was one who, at a
certain period of the last century, under the reign of the Empress
Catherine II., had been settled for some years in the Kolomna. He was an
extraordinary and enigmatical personage, of whom none knew any thing; he
wore a flowing Asiatic dress, his complexion was swarthy as an Arab; but
to what nation he really belonged, whether Hindoo, or Greek, or Persian,
none could decide. His tall stature, his tawny, withered, wiry face,
with its tint of greenish bronze, his large eyes full of sullen fire,
shadowed by thick and overhanging brows; every point in his app