A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, and a quiet
voice, which yet had in it the ring of command, uttered these words
in his ear -
"Close the casket, and compose your face."
Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbane and tranquil
presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This personage had
risen from a neighbouring table, and, bringing his glass with him,
had taken a seat beside Francis.
"Close the casket," repeated the stranger, "and put it quietly back
into your pocket, where I feel persuaded it should never have been.
Try, if you please, to throw off your bewildered air, and act as
though I were one of your acquaintances whom you had met by chance.
So! Touch glasses with me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must
be an amateur."
And the stranger pronounced these last words with a smile of
peculiar meaning, leaned back in his seat and enjoyed a deep
inhalation of tobacco.
"For God's sake," said Francis, "tell me who you are and what this
means? Why I should obey your most unusual suggestions I am sure I
know not; but the truth is, I have fallen this evening into so many
perplexing adventures, and all I meet conduct themselves so
strangely, that I think I must either have gone mad or wandered
into another planet. Your face inspires me with confidence; you
seem wise, good, and experienced; tell me, for heaven's sake, why
you accost me in so odd a fashion?"
"All in due time," replied the stranger.
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