doesn't care to prosecute, and all his allegations
against you fall to the ground. Well, these
people fancy they could carry on the thing
themselves, you understand; we think not. They
say they have got a strong case; perhaps they
have; but we ask, 'What's the use of it? Sending
that poor beggar to Spielberg won't save you,
will it?' And so we put it to them this way:
'Draw stakes, let him off, and both can cry quits.'
There, give me another light. Isn't that the
common-sense view of it?"

"I scarcely dare to say that I understand you
aright."

"Oh, I can guess why. I have had dealings
with fellows of your sort before. You don't fancy
my not alluding to compensation, eh? You
want to hear about the money part of the
matter?"

And he laughed aloud, but whether at my
mercenary spirit or his own shrewdness in
detecting it, I do not really know.

"Well, I'm afraid," continued he, "you'll be
disappointed there. These Austrians are hard
up; besides, they never do pay. It's against
their system, and so we never ask them."

"Would it be too much, sir, to ask why I
have been imprisoned?"

"Perhaps not; but a great deal too much for
me to tell you. The confounded papers would
fill a cart, and that's the reason I say, cut your
stick, my man, and get away." Again he turned
to the window, and looking out, asked, "Any
shooting about here? There ought to be cocks
in that wood yonder?" and without caring for
reply, went on: "After all, you know what
Bosh it is to talk about chains and dungeons
and bread-and-water and the rest of it. You've
been living in clover here. That old fellow
below tells me that you dine with him every
day; that you might have gone into Innspruck,
to the theatre if you liked it.—I'll swear there
are snipes in that low land next the river.—
Think it over Rigges, think it over."

"I am not Rigges."

"Oh, I forgot! you're the other fellow.
Well, think it over, Harpar."

"My name is not Harpar, sir."

"What do I care for a stray vowel or two?
Maybe you call yourself Harpar or Harpér? It's
all the same to us."

"It is not the question of a vowel or two,
sir; and I desire you to remark it is the graver
one of a mistaken identity!" I said this with a
high-sounding importance that I thought must
astound him, but his light and frivolous nature
was impervious to rebuke.

"We have nothing to say to that," replied he,
carelessly. "You may be Noakes or Styles. I
believe they are the names of any fellows who
are supposed by courtesy to have no name at
all, and it's all alike to us. What I have to
observe to you is this: nobody cares very much
whether you are detained here or not; nobody
wants to detain you. Just reflect, therefore, if
it's not the best thing you can do to slope off,
and make no more fuss about it?"

"Once for all, sir," said I, still more impressively,

"I am not the person against whom this
charge is made. The authorities have all along
mistaken me for another."

"Well, what if they have? Does it signify
one kreutzer? We have had trouble enough
about the matter already, and do not embroil
us any further."

"May I ask, sir, just for information, who
are the 'we' you have so frequently alluded to?"

Had I asked him in what division of the globe
he understood us to be then conversing, he would
not have regarded me with a look of more blank
astonishment.

"Who are we?" repeated he. "Did you ask
who are we?"

"Yes, sir, that was what I made bold to
ask."

"Cool, certainly; what might be called
uncommon cool. To what line of life were you
brought up to, my worthy gent? I have rather a
curiosity about your antecedents."

"That same curiosity cost you a trifle once
before," said I, no longer able to control myself,
and dying to repay his impertinence. "I
remember, once upon a time, meeting you on a
railroad, and you were so eager to exhibit the
skill with which you could read a man's calling,
that you bet me a sovereign you would guess
mine. You did so, and lost."

"You can't be—no, it's impossible. Are you
really the goggle-eyed fellow that walked off
with the bag for Kalbbratenstadt?"

"I did, by mistake, carry away a bag on that
occasion, and so punctiliously did I repay my
error, that I travelled the whole journey to
convey those despatches to their destination."

"I know all about it," said he, in a frank,
gay manner. "Doubleton told me the whole
story. You dined with him and pretended you
were I don't remember whom, and then you took
old Mamma Keats off to Como and made her
believe you were Louis Philippe, and you made
fierce love to the pretty companion, who was
fool enough to like you. By Jove! what a rig
you must have run. We have all laughed over
it a score of times."

"If I knew who 'we' were, I am certain I
should feel flattered by any amusement I afforded
them, notwithstanding how much more they
are indebted to fiction than fact regarding me.
I never assumed to be Louis Philippe, nor
affected to be any person of distinction. A
flighty old lady was foolish enough to imagine
me a prince of the Orleans family——"

"You!—a prince! Oh, this is too absurd!"

"I confess, sir, I cannot see the matter in
this light. I presume the mistake to be one
by no means difficult to have occurred. Mrs.
Keats had seen a deal of life and the
world——"

"Not so much as you fancy," broke he in.
"She was a long time in that private asylum up
at Brompton, and then down in Staffordshire;
altogether she must have passed five-and-twenty
or thirty years in a rather restricted circle."

"Mad! Was she mad?"

"Not what one would call mad, but queer.