Mr. Mole turned pale.
Yet he tried to laugh.
A hollow ghastly laugh it was too, that told how he felt more plainly than words could have done.
"Don't, Harvey; don't, I beg!" he said in faltering tones; "it sounds like some dreadful thing one sees upon the stage."
"In all these southern countries you know, Mr. Mole, a man's life is not worth much."
"Harvey!"
"A hired assassin or bravo will cut a throat or stab a man in the back for a few francs."
"Oh!"
"I should advise you not to keep out after dark—and avoid dark corners. These people can poison you, too, with a bouquet or a jewel. Accept a flower or a nosegay, but don't smell it."
"Harvey."