uced him with all solemnity, casting an appealing
glance at each in turn, as though begging them to accept this matter
seriously. There was just a slender thread of hope still, and he did not
intend to abandon it.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have the honor to present to you the Count
Leonardo di Marioni, a martyr, as you all know, to our cause. Count
Marioni was, only last week, released from an imprisonment which has
lasted for five-and-twenty years."

They all looked at him curiously--a little compassionately, but none of
them were quite sure how to acknowledge the salutation. The Jew alone
stood up and made a shuffling little bow; the others remained silent
except the little French barber, who murmured something about pleasure
and acquaintance, which the Professor promptly frowned down. The Count,
who had remained standing, advanced to the bottom of the table, and,
laying his trembling hands upon it, spoke:

"Gentlemen and Brothers of the Order of the White Hyacinth," he said
solemnly, "I am glad to meet you."

The Frenchman and the Italian Muratti exchanged expressive winks. The
vendor of ice cream growled across the table for the bird's-eye, and
commenced leisurely filling his pipe, while the Jew ventured upon a
feeble "hear, hear."

"My name is doubtless known to you," the Count continued, "and the story
of my life, which, I am proud to remember, is closely interwoven with
the history of your Order. Your faces, alas! are strange to me. My old
comrades, whom, I had hoped to meet, and whose sympathy I had counted
on, are no more. I feel somewhat as though I had stepped out of the
shadows of a bygone life, and everything is a little strange to me. I
have grown unaccustomed even to speech itself. You must pardon me if I
do not make myself understood with ease. The past seems very, very far
away."

By this time all the pipes were lit, and the mugs were filled. The smoke
hung round the little assembly in a faint cloud, and the atmosphere was
growing dense. The Count looked a little puzzled, but he only hesitated
for a moment. He remembered that he was in England, and the habits of
foreigners were not easy to grow accustomed to. It was a small matter,
although he wished that the odor of the tobacco had not been quite so
rank. When he resumed speaking, however, it was forgotten in a moment.

"I must ask you to bear with me in a certain confession which I am about
to make," he continued. "I am not here to-night to in