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“The American, astounded as he was, had yet patience to inquire whether he had not mistaken him for another.

“The other smiled somewhat reproachfully, as he said, ‘I trust, signor, you are not disposed to ignore the obligation. You are the gentleman who lives, I believe, on the second floor left?’

“‘Very true; I do live there, and I owe you nothing. I never borrowed a carlino from you–I never spoke to you before; and if you ever take the liberty to speak to me again, I’ll knock you down.’

“The Italian smiled again, not so blandly, perhaps, but as significantly, and saying, ‘We shall see,’ bowed and retired.

“The American thought little more of the matter till, going to the Prefecture to obtain his vise for Borne, he discovered that his passport had been stopped, and a detainer put upon him for this debt. He hastened at once to his Minister, who referred him to the law-adviser of the Legation for counsel. The man of law looked grave; he neither heeded the angry denunciations of the enraged Yankee, nor his reiterated assurances that the whole was an infamous fraud. He simply said, ‘The case is difficult, but I will do my best.’ After the lapse of about a week, a message came from the Prefect to say that the stranger’s passport was at his service whenever he desired to have it.

“‘I knew it would be so!’ cried the American, as he came suddenly upon his lawyer in the street. ‘I was certain that you were only exaggerating the difficulty of a matter that must have been so simple; for, as I never owed the money, there was no reason why I should pay it.’

“‘It was a case for some address, notwithstanding,’ said the other, shaking his head.

“‘Address! fiddle-stick! It was a plain matter of fact, and needed neither skill nor cunning. You of course showed that this fellow was a stranger to me–that we had never interchanged a word till the day he made this rascally demand?’

“‘I did nothing of the kind, sir. If I had put in so contemptible a plea, you would have lost your cause. What I did was this: I asked what testimony he could adduce as to the original loan, and he gave me the name of one witness, a certain Count well known in this city, who was at breakfast with him when you called to borrow this money, and who saw the pieces counted out and placed in your hand.’

“‘You denounced this fellow as a perjurer?’

“‘Far from it, sir. I respect the testimony of a man of station and family, and I would not insult the feelings of the Count by daring to impugn it; but as the plaintiff had called only one witness to the loan, I produced two just as respectable, just as distinguished, who saw you repay the debt! You are now free; and remember, sir, that wherever your wanderings lead you, never cease to remember that, whatever be our demerits at Naples, at least we can say with pride, The laws are administered with equal justice to all men!'”

The entrance of the gendarme at this moment cut short the question I was about to ask, whether I was to accept this story as a fact or as a parable.

“Here he comes again. Only look at the misery in the fellow’s face! and you see he has his orders evidently enough; and he dare not hurry me. I think I’ll have a bath before I start.”

“It is scarcely fair, after all,” said I. “I suppose he wants to get back to his one o’clock dinner.”

“I could no more feel for a gendarme than I could compassionate a scorpion. Take the best-natured fellow in Europe–the most generous, the most trustful, the most unsuspecting–make a brigadier of Gendarmerie of him for three months, and he’ll come out scarcely a shade brighter than the veriest rascal he has handcuffed! Do you know what our friend yonder is at now?”