The weather was fine, and, not to create suspicion, I took a turn at landscape,--this was after our quarrel was made up, you understand.

After walking along the ramparts for some time, I was coming tranquilly home with my hands in my pockets, when I saw the street crowded with people.

Such a crowd! like that for an execution.

It fell upon me; I was seized, garroted, gagged, and guarded by the police.
Ah! you don't know--and I hope you never may know--what it is to be taken for a murderer by a maddened populace which stones you and howls after you from end to end of the principal street of a town, shouting for your death! Ah! those eyes were so many flames, all mouths were a single curse, while from the volume of that burning hatred rose the fearful cry: 'To death! to death! down with the murderer!'" "So those Dalmatians spoke our language, did they ?" said the count.

"I observe you relate the scene as if it happened yesterday." Schinner was nonplussed.
"Riot has but one language," said the astute statesman Mistigris.
"Well," continued Schinner, "when I was brought into court in presence of the magistrates, I learned that the cursed corsair was dead, poisoned by Zena.