When I had finished reading this instructive item of current news, a chanteuse came round, a scallop-shell in her hand, soliciting subscriptions to compensate her, in some measure, for the vocal agony which she had been recently enduring. As I glanced up, to drop some sous into her shell, my eyes chanced upon a man who was seated at a table right in front of me, but on the opposite side of the room. It was the man of the train! He, too, was reading a journal, just as I had been doing, and apparently his was an English journal too. As I looked at him he looked at me, and, raising the paper, pointed to a particular paragraph it contained, indulging in that soft, devilish laughter of his, which seemed to fill my very soul with horror as I heard.
The sensations with which I regarded this man,
