The character I had adopted, namely that of a somewhat harsh and cynical man who had seen life and did not like it, had by constant hourly practice become with me almost second nature--indeed, I should have had some difficulty in returning to the easy and thoughtless abandon of my former self.

I had studied the art of being churlish till I really WAS churlish; I had to act the chief character in a drama, and I knew my part thoroughly well.

I sat quietly puffing at my cigar and thinking of nothing in particular--for, as far as my plans went, I had done with thought, and all my energies were strung up to action--when I was startled by a loud and increasing clamor, as of the shouting of a large crowd coming onward like an overflowing tide.

I leaned out of the window, but could see nothing, and I was wondering what the noise could mean, when an excited waiter threw open the door of the smoking-room and cried, breathlessly: "Carmelo Neri, signor! Carmelo Neri! They have him, poverino! they have him at last!" Though almost as strongly interested in this news as the waiter himself, I did not permit my interest to become manifest.

I never forgot for a second the character I had assumed, and drawing the cigar slowly from my lips I merely said: "Then they have caught a great rascal.