And for my sins, there was one silent little man at table who took my story at the true value.

It was from no sense of humour, to which he was quite dead.

It was from no particular intelligence, for he had not any.

The bond of sympathy, of all things in the world, had rendered him clairvoyant.
Dinner was no sooner done than I strolled forth into the streets with some design of viewing the cathedral; and the little man was silently at my heels.

A few doors from the inn, in a dark place of the street, I was aware of a touch on my arm, turned suddenly, and found him looking up at me with eyes pathetically bright.
'I beg your pardon, sir; but that story of yours was particularly rich.
He--he! Particularly racy,' said he.