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of an adverb in this way, was the chief fault of his English,--'first

among my countrymen. I ask them what news in Londra, of foreigners

arrived. Then I go among the French. Then I go among the Germans. They

all tell me. The great part of us know well the other, and they all tell

me. But!--no person can tell me nothing of him, Rigaud. Fifteen times,'

said Cavalletto, thrice throwing out his left hand with all its fingers

spread, and doing it so rapidly that the sense of sight could hardly

follow the action, 'I ask of him in every place where go the foreigners;

and fifteen times,' repeating the same swift performance, 'they know

nothing. But!--' At this significant Italian rest on the word 'But,' his

backhanded shake of his right forefinger came into play; a very little,

and very cautiously.

'But!--After a long time when I have not been able to find that he

is here in Londra, some one tells me of a soldier with white

hair--hey?--not hair like this that he carries--white--who lives retired

secrettementally, in a certain place. But!--' with another rest upon

the word, 'who sometimes in the after-dinner, walks, and smokes. It is

necessary, as they say in Italy (and as they know, poor people), to

have patience. I have patience. I ask where is this certain place. One.

believes it is here, one believes it is there. Eh well! It is not here,

it is not there. I wait patientissamentally. At last I find it. Then I

watch; then I hide, until he walks and smokes. He is a soldier with grey

hair--But!--' a very decided rest indeed, and a very vigorous play from

side to side of the back-handed forefinger--'he is also this man that

you see.'

It was noticeable, that, in his old habit of submission to one who had

been at the trouble of asserting superiority over him, he even then

bestowed upon Rigaud a confused bend of his head, after thus pointing

him out.

'Eh well, Signore!' he cried in conclusion, addressing Arthur again. 'I

waited for a good opportunity. I writed some words to Signor Panco,' an

air of novelty came over Mr Pancks with this designation, 'to come and

help. I showed him, Rigaud, at his window, to Signor Panco, who was

often the spy in the day. I slept at night near the door of the house.

At last we entered, only this to-day, and now you see him! As he would

not come up in presence of the illustrious Advocate,' such was Mr

Baptist's honourable mention of Mr Rugg, 'we waited down below there,

together, and Signor Panco guarded the street.'

At the close of this recital, Arthur turned his eyes upon the impudent

and wicked face. As it met his, the nose came down over the moustache

and the moustache went up under the nose. When nose and moustache had

settled into their places again, Monsieur Rigaud loudly snapped his

fingers half-a-dozen times; bending forward to jerk the snaps at Arthur,

as if they were palpable missiles which he jerked into his face.

'Now, Philosopher!' said Rigaud.'What do you want with me?'

'I want to know,' returned Arthur, without disguising his abhorrence,

'how you dare direct a suspicion of murder against my mother's house?'

'Dare!' cried Rigaud. 'Ho, ho! Hear him! Dare? Is it dare? By Heaven, my

small boy, but you are a little imprudent!'

'I want that suspicion to be cleared away,' said Arthur. 'You shall

be taken there, and be publicly seen. I want to know, moreover,

what business you had there when I had a burning desire to fling you

down-stairs. Don't frown at me, man! I have seen enough of you to know

that you are a bully and coward. I need no revival of my spirits from

the effects of this wretched place to tell you so plain a fact, and one

that you know so well.'

White to the lips, Rigaud stroked his moustache, muttering, 'By Heaven,

my small boy, but you are a little compromising of my lady, your

respectable mother'--and seemed for a minute undecided how to act.

His indecision was soon gone. He sat himself down with a threatening

swagger, and said:

'Give me a bottle of wine. You can buy wine here. Send one of your

madmen to get me a bottle of wine. I won't talk to you without wine.

Come! Yes or no?'

'Fetch him what he wants, Cavalletto,' said Arthur, scornfully,

producing the money.

'Contraband beast,' added Rigaud, 'bring Port wine! I'll drink nothing

but Porto-Porto.'

The contraband beast, however, assuring all present, with his

significant finger, that he peremptorily declined to leave his post at

the door, Signor Panco offered his services. He soon returned with the

bottle of wine: which, according to the custom of the place, originating

in a scarcity of corkscrews among the Collegians (in common with a

scarcity of much else), was already opened for use.

'Madman! A large glass,' said Rigaud.

Signor Panco put a tumbler before him; not without a visible conflict of

feeling on the question of throwing it at his head.

'Haha!' boasted Rigaud. 'Once a gentleman, and always a gentleman.

A gentleman from the beginning, and a gentleman to the end. What

the Devil! A gentleman must be waited on, I hope? It's a part of my

character to be waited on!'

He half filled the tumbler as he said it, and drank off the contents

when he had done saying it.

'Hah!' smacking his lips. 'Not a very old prisoner that! I judge by your

looks, brave sir, that imprisonment will subdue your blood much sooner

than it softens this hot wine. You are mellowing--losing body and colour

already. I salute you!'

He tossed off another half glass: holding it up both before and

afterwards, so as to display his small, white hand.

'To business,' he then continued. 'To conversation. You have shown

yourself more free of speech than body, sir.'

'I have used the freedom of telling you what you know yourself to be.

You know yourself, as we all know you, to be far worse than that.'

'Add, always a gentleman, and it's no matter. Except in that regard, we

are all alike. For example: you couldn't for your life be a gentleman;

I couldn't for my life be otherwise. How great the difference! Let us go

on. Words, sir, never influence the course of the cards, or the course

of the dice. Do you know that? You do? I also play a game, and words are

without power over it.'

Now that he was confronted with Cavalletto, and knew that his story was

known--whatever thin disguise he had worn, he dropped; and faced it out,

with a bare face, as the infamous wretch he was.

'No, my son,' he resumed, with a snap of his fingers. 'I play my game

to the end in spite of words; and Death of my Body and Death of my Soul!

I'll win it. You want to know why I played this little trick that

you have interrupted? Know then that I had, and that I have--do you

understand me? have--a commodity to sell to my lady your respectable

mother. I described my precious commodity, and fixed my price. Touching

the bargain, your admirable mother was a little too calm, too stolid,

too immovable and statue-like. In fine, your admirable mother vexed me.

To make variety in my position, and to amuse myself--what! a gentleman

must be amused at somebody's expense!--I conceived the happy idea of

disappearing. An idea, see you, that your characteristic mother and my

Flintwinch would have been well enough pleased to execute. Ah! Bah,

bah, bah, don't look as from high to low at me! I repeat it. Well enough

pleased, excessively enchanted, and with all their hearts ravished. How

strongly will you have it?'

He threw out the lees of his glass on the ground, so that they nearly

spattered Cavalletto. This seemed to draw his attention to him anew. He

set down his glass and said:

'I'll not fill it. What! I am born to be served. Come then, you

Cavalletto, and fill!'

The little man looked at Clennam, whose eyes were occupied with Rigaud,

and, seeing no prohibition, got up from the ground, and poured out

from the bottle into the glass. The blending, as he did so, of his old

submission with a sense of something humorous; the striving of that

with a certain smouldering ferocity, which might have flashed fire in

an instant (as the born gentleman seemed to think, for he had a wary

eye upon him); and the easy yielding of all to a good-natured, careless,

predominant propensity to sit down on the ground again: formed a very

remarkable combination of character.

'This happy idea, brave sir,' Rigaud resumed after drinking, 'was a

happy idea for several reasons. It amused me, it worried your dear

mama and my Flintwinch, it caused you agonies (my terms for a lesson

in politeness towards a gentleman), and it suggested to all the amiable

persons interested that your entirely devoted is a man to fear. By

Heaven, he is a man to fear! Beyond this; it might have restored her wit

to my lady your mother--might, under the pressing little suspicion your

wisdom has recognised, have persuaded her at last to announce, covertly,

in the journals, that the difficulties of a certain contract would be

removed by the appearance of a certain important party to it. Perhaps

yes, perhaps no. But that, you have interrupted. Now, what is it you

say? What is it you want?'

Never had Clennam felt more acutely that he was a prisoner in bonds,

than when he saw this man before him, and could not accompany him to his

mother's house. All the undiscernible difficulties and dangers he had

ever feared were closing in, when he could not stir hand or foot.

'Perhaps, my friend, philosopher, man of virtue, Imbecile, what you

will; perhaps,' said Rigaud, pausing in his drink to look out of his

glass with his horrible smile, 'you would have done better to leave me

alone?'

'No! At least,' said Clennam, 'you are known to be alive and unharmed.

At least you cannot escape from these two witnesses; and they can

produce you before any public authorities, or before hundreds of

people!'

'But will not produce me before one,' said Rigaud, snapping his

fingers again with an air of triumphant menace. 'To the Devil with your

witnesses! To the Devil with your produced! To the Devil with yourself!

What! Do I know what I know, for that? Have I my commodity on sale, for

that? Bah, poor debtor! You have interrupted my little project. Let it

pass. How then? What remains? To you, nothing; to me, all. Produce

me! Is that what you want? I will produce myself, only too quickly.

Contrabandist!

Give me pen, ink, and paper.'

Cavalletto got up again as before, and laid them before him in his

former manner. Rigaud, after some villainous thinking and smiling,

wrote, and read aloud, as follows:

'To MRS CLENNAM.

'Wait answer.

'Prison of the Marshalsea. 'At the apartment of your son.

'Dear Madam,--I am in despair to be informed to-day by our prisoner here

(who has had the goodness to employ spies to seek me, living for politic

reasons in retirement), that you have had fears for my safety.

'Reassure yourself, dear madam. I am well, I am strong and constant.

'With the greatest impatience I should fly to your house, but that I

foresee it to be possible, under the circumstances, that you will not

yet have quite definitively arranged the little proposition I have had

the honour to submit to you. I name one week from this day, for a last

final visit on my part; when you will unconditionally accept it or

reject it, with its train of consequences.

'I suppress my ardour to embrace you and achieve this interesting

business, in order that you may have leisure to adjust its details to

our perfect mutual satisfaction.

'In the meanwhile, it is not too much to propose (our prisoner having

deranged my housekeeping), that my expenses of lodging and nourishment

at an hotel shall be paid by you. 'Receive, dear madam, the assurance of

my highest and most distinguished consideration,

'RIGAUD BLANDOIS.

'A thousand friendships to that dear Flintwinch.

'I kiss the hands of Madame F.'

When he had finished this epistle, Rigaud folded it and tossed it with

a flourish at Clennam's feet. 'Hola you! Apropos of producing, let

somebody produce that at its address, and produce the answer here.'

'Cavalletto,' said Arthur. 'Will you take this fellow's letter?'

But, Cavalletto's significant finger again expressing that his post was

at the door to keep watch over Rigaud, now he had found him with so much

trouble, and that the duty of his post was to sit on the floor backed up

by the door, looking at Rigaud and holding his own ankles,--Signor Panco

once more volunteered. His services being accepted, Cavalletto suffered

the door to open barely wide enough to admit of his squeezing himself

out, and immediately shut it on him.

'Touch me with a finger, touch me with an epithet, question my

superiority as I sit here drinking my wine at my pleasure,' said Rigaud,

'and I follow the letter and cancel my week's grace. You wanted me? You

have got me! How do you like me?'

'You know,' returned Clennam, with a bitter sense of his helplessness,

'that when I sought you, I was not a prisoner.'

'To the Devil with you and your prison,' retorted Rigaud, leisurely,

as he took from his pocket a case containing the materials for making

cigarettes, and employed his facile hands in folding a few for present

use; 'I care for neither of you. Contrabandist! A light.'

Again Cavalletto got up, and gave him what he wanted. There had been

something dreadful in the noiseless skill of his cold, white hands, with

the fingers lithely twisting about and twining one over another like

serpents. Clennam could not prevent himself from shuddering inwardly, as

if he had been looking on at a nest of those creatures.