is a stranger to me. Is he famous? Why do
you point him out?"

"Because I have particular reasons for wishing
to know something of him. He is a countryman
of yours; his name is Count Fosco. Do
you know that name?"

"Not I, Walter. Neither the name nor the
man is known to me."

"Are you quite sure you don't recognise him?
Look again; look carefully. I will tell you why
I am so anxious about it, when we leave the
theatre. Stop! let me help you up here, where
you can see him better."

I helped the little man to perch himself on the
edge ot the raised dais upon which the pit-seats
were all placed. Here, his small stature was no
hindrance to him; here, he could see over the
heads of the ladies who were seated near the outermost
part of the bench. A slim, light-haired man,
standing by us, whom I had not noticed before—
a man with a scar on his left cheek—looked
attentively at Pesca as I helped him up, and then
looked still more attentively, following the direction
of Pesca's eyes, at the Count. Our converation
might have reached his cars, and might,
as it struck me, have roused his curiosity.

Meanwhile, Pesca lixed his eyes earnestly on
the broad, full, smiling face, turned a little
upward, exactly opposite to him.

"No," he said; "I have never set my two
eyes on that big fat man before, in all my life."

As he spoke, the Count looked downwards
towards the boxes behind us on the pit tier.

The eyes of the two Italians met.

The instant before, I had been perfectly satisfied,
from his own reiterated assertion, that
Pesca did not know the Count. The instant
afterwards, I was equally certain that the Count
knew Pesca!

Knew him; and—more surprising still—
feared him as well! There was no mistaking
the change that passed over the villain's face.
The leaden hue that altered his yellow
complexion in a moment, the sudden rigidity of all
his features, the furtive scrutiny of his cold
grey eyes, the motionless stillness of him from
head to foot, told their own tale. A mortal
dread had mastered him, body and soul—and
his own recognition of Pesca was the cause of it!

The slim man, with the scar on his cheek, was
still close by us. He had apparently drawn his
inference from the effect produced on the Count
by the sight of Pesca, as I had drawn mine. He
was a mild gentlemanlike man, looking like a
foreigner; and his interest in our proceedings
was not expressed in anything approaching to
an offensive manner.

For my own part, I was so startled by the
change in the Count's face, so astounded at the
entirely unexpected turn which events had
taken, that I knew neither what to say or do
next. Pesca roused me by stepping back to his
former place at my side, and speaking first.

"How the fat man stares!" he exclaimed.
"Is it at me? Am I famous? How can he
know me, when I don't know him?"

I kept my eye still on the Count. I saw him
move for the lirst time when Pesca moved, so
as not to lose sight of the little man, in the
lower position in which he now stood. I was
curious to see what would happen, if Pesca's
attention, under these circumstances, was
withdrawn from him; and I accordingly asked the
Professor if he recognised any of his pupils,
that evening, among the ladies in the boxes.
Pesca immediately raised the large opera glass
to his eyes, and moved it slowly all round the
upper part of the theatre, searching for his
pupils with the most conscientious scrutiny.

The moment he showed himself to be thus
engaged, the Count turned round; slipped past
the persons who occupied seats on the further
side of him from where we stood; and
disappeared in the middle passage down the centre of
the pit. I caught Pesca by the arm; and, to
his inexpressible astonishment, hurried him
round with me to the back of the pit, to
intercept the Count before he could get to the
door. Somewhat to my surprise, the slim man
hastened out before us, avoiding a stoppage
caused by some people on our side of the pit
leaving their places, by which Pesca and myself
were delayed. When we reached the lobby the
Count had disappeared—and the foreigner with
the scar was gone too.

"Come home," I said; "come home, Pesca,
to your lodgings. I must speak to you in private
—I must speak directly."

"My-soul-bless-my-soul!" cried the Professor,
in a state of the extremest bewilderment.
"What on earth is the matter?"

I walked on rapidly, without answering. The
circumstances under which the Count had left
the theatre suggested to me that his
extraordinary anxiety to escape Pesca might carry
him to further extremities still. He might
escape me, too, by leaving London. I doubted
the future, if I allowed him so much as a day's
freedom to act as he pleased. And I doubted
that foreign stranger who had got the start of
us, and whom I suspected of intentionally
following him out.

With this double distrust in my mind, I was
not long in making Pesca understand what I
wanted. As soon as we two were alone in his
room, I increased his confusion and amazement
a hundredfold by telling him what my purpose
was, as plainly and unreservedly as I have
acknowledged it here.

"My friend, what can I do?" cried the
Professor, piteously appealing to me with both
hands. "Deuce-what-the-deuce! how can I
help you, Walter, when I don't know the man?"

"He knows you—he is afraid of you—he has
left the theatre to escape you. Pesca! there
must be a reason for this. Look back into your
own life, before you came to England. You left
Italy, as you have told me yourself, for political
reasons. You have never mentioned those
reasons to me; and I don't inquire into them,
now. I only ask you to consult your own
recollections, and to say if they suggest no past cause
for the terror which the first sight of you
produced in that man."